


The Lullaby of Bruce Wayne

by EAI



Series: Angel Song [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Bottom Bruce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Top Clark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAI/pseuds/EAI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Superman is tormented by the murder of Bruce Wayne - his innocent, human lover. Succumbing to his grief and anger, he exercises his absolute power into ruling the entire earth absolutely. </p><p>The SuperBat version of the Injustice + Post-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice that no one asks for.</p><p> <br/>UPDATE [9th June 2017] <br/>: This work will be put on hold, until I finish its companion piece "String Theory". Also, the chapters will be constantly edited by me, so there may or may not be newer details added into the story-line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, English is seriously not my first language. Once upon a time, I came to the cinema near my home with an open mind. I expected a lot of things from the movie, and it didn't fail me. I ended up watching said movie three times in a row plus four for the next few days. I freakin' love the new Batman, I love Superman, I love Wonder Woman and I love the music. Oh! And Alfred too! And so, I've been spending a lot of my time on Youtube, surfing the Internet and Tumblr - laughing and watching Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill's flirty interviews. 
> 
> If you're wondering why I made Bruce a bottom here, well blame it on the actors who portray them! >o

_~*~_

 

_“—Wanna know something funny? When the lights are out, I’m gonna kill ya.”_

Bruce tugged on his restraint, his arms were aching and dead tired, and his back muscles were sore. He huffed a breath when he felt the plastic chafing and bruising his skin. Being laid and spread on the floor like this; where his wrists were tied around a steel pipe, maybe with a broken rib or two and unable to reach his pockets without pulling both sockets of his arms, were not what he imagined to be kidnapped like. This must be one of the most bizarre ways from him to die. At least, in this godforsaken room, he was not the only prisoner. Bruce raised his eyes to look at _him_ , the poor guy was suspended upside down by his ankles, swaying like a butchered animal. The front of the man’s shirt was covered in gore, sticking grotesquely to his body. He was supposed to be dead, with an injury untreated like that. But the man was still breathing – pulling a tight smile when he caught Bruce’s sympathetic stare.

“I may look like I’m dying, but I feel fine actually. Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wayne,” he reassured softly, forcing himself to turn to look at the only door in the room. He grumbled, “It won’t be long now… We’ll get out of here. And I suggest you to save your energy.”

“…Hate to break it to you, but neither of us are in any shape to even step out of this shithole.”

“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist.”

“Live another ten more years, you’ll understand how pessimistic people my age can be… This is what you call, mid-life crisis.”

“Thanks to you, I’m not looking forward to growing old and boring,” he chuckled a little, then stayed relatively quiet with the exception of the stretching noise of the cable he was chained to. He let his arms flop freely, and fixed his eyes once again at the door. Why would the terrorists hang him like that, Bruce refused to know.

Then the lights went off, along with the distant sound of a grumbling generator pulling to an abrupt stop. Days had passed, close to a week maybe, his captors knew and loved to play with his fear. Loved to see him drowning in his dread, afraid something would happen, especially tonight. Nyctophobia, was what they called it. As the filaments flickered down, the darkness slowly gobbled up the entire space of their tiny cell. Bruce swallowed the itch for a trusting, companionable sound – not the haunting, maddening laughs of freaks dressed like clowns – and he cursed his untimely panic. He choked at the wild drumming of his heart until—

“—The name’s Clark, by the way. Clark Kent,” the man introduced himself, sheepishly, unknowingly saving Bruce from his scare. “…I, uh, work with Perry White and Lois Lane? From Daily Planet? It’d be nice though… If we could meet each other, shake hands and curve fake grins, under better circumstances.”

“…For once, I agree with you,” Bruce grimaced, clenching his hands to shake his fear away. “I’d tell you my name, but you beat me to it.”

“You doing okay? You don’t sound so great.”

“N-No, I’m fine—“

There was that familiar echo of a laugh, _again_ , growing louder and closer. _Murderous_. _Hysterical_. And Clark groaned, fumbling in the darkness.

“Oh, Lord…” he cursed under his breath. “That can’t be good.”

“Truth be told, I kinda hoped that was all in my h-head…” Bruce muttered, wrenching on his cuffs again.

“Is it all right, Mr. Wayne, if we can be honest with each other—“Clark began, grunting a little. In this pitch black, Bruce could only rely on his hearing and he was sure that he heard grating sounds of Clark’s cable snapped and the man made a quiet drop to the floor. “—since we’re currently fighting for our lives?”

“H-How the hell did you—?” Bruce stuttered, flinching when Clark’s cable clanged somewhere to his left. He faltered when he felt foreign hands inspecting his injuries, and frowned at the suspicious heat radiating from Clark’s body. He could even make out the man’s looming shadow, how close he was and darker than the rest, yet he felt terrifyingly safe. “W-What are you? A walking furnace?”

“Nope, you’re just too cold and the temperature’s minus ten,” Clark replied easily, a smile in his voice as his strong hands worked on Bruce’s restraint. Then he was free, relieved that he could control his stiff arms. But he hitched a gasp when he saw two blinking red orbs staring into him before they disappeared, replaced by Clark’s voice. “And you’re right. _You_ are in no condition to do anything. Your left leg and three of your ribs are broken, you’ve dislocated your right shoulder… And your head looks pretty bad too.”

Bruce timidly reached for the back of his head, the spot where the base of his skull met his spine, where he knew most of his numbs and aches were throbbing from. His hair matted his blood – Clark couldn’t have known about his injury there after his only fifteen hours of captivity. But Clark stopped him.

“Don’t.”

How in the world could he see his head injury, all his broken bones, in this darkness?

“…Who are you?”

Clark went silent, resting both of Bruce’s hands together, to release the stress on his arms. “Joker’s watchdogs are coming in any minute now. They’re not going to torture us anymore, they’ll murder us. We’ll both die if we don’t fight back. But you’re severely injured, and so I need you to close your eyes when they come.”

“A-And why would I want to close my eyes when it’s already so fucking dark in here?” he gritted.

Clark helped him to sit at the farthest corner, with Bruce’s back against the wall. He then sighed, and the red orbs returning again. “It’ll be less traumatizing if you do.”

~*~

_“—Admitted to the Arkham Asylum, scheduled to be—“_

Bruce muted the television, glaring at the grinning, bruised face of the Joker shackled from head to toe, as he flung the remote to an empty chair beside his bed. It had been almost two weeks since he was rescued, and now he sat recovering and traumatized at the hospital – all alone. His father said he was a survivor, and it turned out he was not the only hostage locked in that deserted building. There were thirty others who were shredded, dumped in a swimming pool full of acid, brutally murdered. Why didn’t the Joker kill him when he had the chance? Bruce felt guilty for escaping that madness alive, and he felt the need to tell at least someone, that there was another who got out too.

It was past midnight when he watched, sleepless and in agony, at the glittering lights of Gotham City through his window. The morphine didn’t do much to numb his pain, and the tight stitches on the back of his head was starting to gripe him. Above all, he didn’t expect to see a man floating in mid-air, outside his window as if he had been watching over him – dressed in blue, his red cape fluttered along the wind. This celestial figure of protection and hope, Bruce thought, he should be thankful to be alive because of Superman. But said hero, up this close and as he already knew, bore similarities to someone he had acquainted not too long ago. And that infuriated him, somehow.

Bruce wrapped himself in his blanket, mindful of his injuries as he limped towards the window. Superman knitted his eyebrows together, regretful, when he watched Bruce clicking on the lock and swung the window open. They stared silently at each other’s eyes, beneath Bruce’s restlessness, he searched for companionship and mutual understanding between them and found guilt, relief, indebtedness until he shivered at the night’s icy cold. Reminding him back to why he was angry in the first place.

“…Why did you save me?” he asked quietly, hands clutching tightly and protectively on his blanket. “I-I heard there was a girl… an eight year old, locked in a freezer.”

He didn’t hear about it, he was told directly by the Commissioner of Gotham and was shown pictures upon pictures of the victims – and the unfortunate girl. Bruce watched the news, of the public’s fear-stricken faces, the riots to deport their alien savior and the politicians’ urging to put Superman under law.  The victims’ deaths were irrational and voluntary, under no apparent reason but to create fear. But the murder of the terrorists was considered as an act of cruelty, just because Superman was never human. And Bruce was caught in between, and was blamed for it.

_‘—All because of him my baby is dead! I just want my daughter back!’_

Superman’s bright blue eyes shifted to the bandages covering Bruce’s head, and said, “You were the only one alive when I came. I…” He frowned. “…I was too late to save the others, and I barely saved you.”

Bruce swallowed, he hated that he couldn’t remember whatever happened to him after he shut his eyes. Yet again, he should be thankful but it felt horribly wrong. He croaked, “Why are you here then? Feeling sorry for saving me? I’m sure you kept track of the news.”

“No, I—“

“—Because I feel sorry for you… I feel sorry for myself. You should’ve come sooner, you could’ve saved her instead of me!” he cried. He took the blame from the parents, from the families of those who were dead – to save Superman. He pointed outside, implying the chaos still raging close. “For you, I took the bullet from them! If I was the only one in that warehouse, I wouldn’t feel this guilty. B-But I wasn’t. I took all the glory that I just survived hell when I know you were there too.”

“Mr. Wayne,” he begged.

“Tell me, please… Why are you really here?”

“I’m here because,” Superman – _Clark_ – closed his eyes, defeated. There were loneliness and exhaustion gracing that features of his as Bruce wiped the tears he didn’t realize had streamed down his face. Both of them were two lost, kindred souls. “…I wanted to see you. I don’t know where else to go, but you. You’re the only person who knows who I am… You’re the only one who I’ve gone through hell with.”

For one, being so strong and extraterrestrial, was that no one asked if he was all right. Except for Bruce.

 

~*~

Bruce became Clark’s immediate lifeline and sanity, it took him months to open up to said superhuman – who would want to love an eternity with an old man like him? But it still amazed him how quickly and compatible their emotions were. He was Superman’s human lover and the Justice League’s valuable asset, a brilliant strategist and an informant. He refused to become a liability to them, and preferred to stay hidden on the sidelines as he witnessed them save the world. Bruce was aware that Clark and the other meta-humans were striving their best to conceal his identity and his connection to the League from their enemies, in their gratitude.

The classified part about his private love life with Clark Kent was known first to Alfred, his family’s sassy Butler who acted as a surrogate father figure to him whenever his real father wasn’t around. And Alfred only smirked and told him that he had a good hunch of both his sexuality and who the person might be. His parents (when he was finally ready), in the meantime, were thrilled when Bruce said he was head over heels in love with someone special. Whether it’d be a man or a woman, he remembered his mother once said to him, they would always be happy for him. After all, there were always Dick and Jason to save the Wayne Enterprises. Oh, how cunning his parents were. Bruce then introduced Clark to them (plus Dick and Jason), as the awkward Metropolis reporter in lieu of the Superman uniform. And the first question his father asked his lover was, ‘So, when’s the big day?’ Much to the delight of the young adults who laughed.

The Kents, however, were much livelier than Bruce’s parents. Clark’s mother loved and constantly fawned over him, and Jonathan had this proud expression written on his face. Over their steaming, mouth-watering lunch, he interrupted the peace by saying—

“You bagged a handsome bride, son. I’m so proud of you,” clapping the now grinning Clark on the shoulder as Bruce sputtered his orange juice. Was him being the catcher that obvious?

Back in Gotham, at Bruce’s remote glass house by the lake – in the tranquil bliss of the lovers’ shared bedroom, Clark was pulling a shaken Bruce closer and rested him against his chest. He peppered his lover with soft kisses, and nuzzled into his hair. He then gently whispered to Bruce’s listening ear, telling him that he was only dreaming a nightmare. Clark stroked Bruce’s cheek with the back of his fingers, calming him down, and pressed his lips against his lover’s. Bruce whimpered when Clark’s strong arms circled around his back, and wept, burrowing closer to Clark’s warmth. Joker’s haunting face was a nightmare indeed.

Months later, Bruce narrowed at Gotham Gazette’s striking headline – ‘Alexander Luthor inherits LexCorp’. It wasn’t that much of a shock, Lionel Luthor was very sickly the last time Bruce saw him. He switched on the television, opting for the ten o’clock news as he flopped down on the sofa in his office. He fixed his eyes on the screen when his phone vibrated on the coffee table. The number was unknown to him. As he swiped to read the message, he heard the click of a gun behind him—

_“—Explosion within the premises of the Arkham Asylum, Joker has escaped the compound—“_

Bruce dropped his phone, hearing it clattered on the floor. His fear danced inside him, as he breathed shakily when a calloused hand mocking a gentle caress on the back of his neck threaded into his hair and slammed his head down to the coffee table. There were faded shots, laughs and cries echoing outside his office and the next thing he knew, he was writhing on the floor. His shirt was ripped open, his slacks were missing. His belt tied his wrists, and gagged. His lower body was aching, in pain. The clown, where his cock still hard and erect, squatted in front of him. Gleefully snapping pictures of Bruce’s abused – _raped_ – body, and sneered.

 “—Eh, don’t have to send these to your hero… Oh! Wanna know what I sent to your phone?” Joker said in a sing-song, as he crawled between Bruce’s legs. “When the lights are out, Brucie, I’m gonna kill ya. Very, very… Lovingly.”

~*~

“…I can’t save him.”

Oliver clenched his teeth as he shook his head in defeat, his hands were still pressing on the huge, gaping wound on Bruce’s stomach. His lover struggled with his breathing, losing in his own battle with death. Superman then dropped to his side when Oliver moved away, gathering Bruce into his arms and stifled his cries when his lover breathed ‘I love you’ as his last. Closing his eyes, tears stopped falling, forever. Burying his face into Bruce’s shoulder, Superman – sweet, sweet Clark – cried. His world, his life, his anchor… His husband, all gone. The sky was raining when the sun began to set, Hal and Billy flew down – shocked at Bruce’s death. Barry stumbled when he arrived, face paled. Victor hung his head low, Arthur swallowed his grief as Diana placed her hand on Clark’s shoulder.

They mourned at the loss of one of their own. Clark took off his cape, carefully wrapping them around Bruce’s tortured, naked body before resting his forehead on his lover’s dead chest. Everything was quiet, until Joker – beaten to a pulp – heaved a laugh in his misery.

Tightly bound with Diana’s lasso, he cackled, “—His **lights** are out! I scared him! I broke him! Then I killed him! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Clark then stood, leaving Bruce’s body in Diana’s hands as he picked up the broken, thick metal sheet that destroyed his whole world. Joker hiccupped as he looked up to the alien appearing in front of him. Eyeing the rusted metal, he grinned.

“…Wouldn’t it be nice if I destroyed Gotham instead? Or, or! Or maybe Metropolis! It’s just that easy to find your weakness, did ya know!” Joker giggled, feeling another laughter bubbling in his throat. “Are you gonna kill me, Superman? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, boy! You just don’t have it in ya!”

It was in the matter of seconds that Joker’s laugh was abruptly silenced – with Clark seizing his head, crushing his skull with a mere grip of a hand, ripping him out of his bounds. Clark muttered darkly, hurling the screaming Joker up into the sky, “…He was my world. And you took him from me.”

~*~

A trickle of red traced down Superman’s ‘hope’.

The sky was pouring blood. Diana glowered at Joker’s burning remains – limbs were separated, head was crushed, twisted and broken, his innards were dug out. And the metal sheet was now painted in the clown’s auburn poison. The entire League had witnessed Clark’s capability, his unexpected monstrosity. Diana closed her eyes, that hope, was no longer there.

Clark, like a mute, took Bruce’s body from Diana’s arms – trembling fingertips trailing Bruce’s cold and ashen face, running a hand through his drenched hair. The bright blue pair of eyes were now dull and lifeless when he turned to Diana, asking for nothing before he flew away, taking Bruce with him.

Hundreds of Wayne’s employees died that day, Bruce included, and a dozen of Joker’s henchmen captured. The public named the tragedy as the ‘Day of the Dead’. Not only did they lose half a quarter of Gotham citizens, they also lost Superman.

~*~

Bruce opened his eyes, greeted by the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock. It read 5:59 AM.

His back was against Clark’s heaving chest, safe and warm in his embrace. He frowned, strange dream, he thought. The strangest he ever had. Yet it felt so real and _alive_. He groaned when the alarm broke to a vexing blare, and slammed a hand to turn the damn thing off. He heard Clark chuckling behind him as the arms that wrapped around his midsection pulled him a bit closer. Ah, so the bastard had been wide awake after all.

“Morning,” Clark whispered, kissing Bruce’s nape.

Bruce turned, glaring at Clark’s cheeky, farm-boyish grin before burrowing himself into the man’s chest – as if he was chasing Clark’s superb body heat, his own personal heater, intending to sleep again. Clark kissed the top of Bruce’s head, his fingers stroking tenderly at the back of his neck and whispered, “I dreamed about you. You were so sweet… adorable and such a worrywart. And you literally know how to cook.”

“…That sounded like a nightmare.”

“It’s a good nightmare, at least,” Clark smiled. “Weird though… That you weren’t a superhero in my dream. We were together, happier, we looked like we just had our honeymoon. Not that I’m saying I’m not happy at where we are now, it’s just that something felt awfully strange about you and my dream.”

Bruce yawned against Clark’s shoulder, “Please tell me I was a meta-human. That’ll explain everything.”

“Pssh, nope,” he teased, nuzzling his nose into Bruce’s hair. The smell of citrus, Bruce’s favorite shampoo, was unbelievable. “You’re just you. But somehow it felt like the _Bruce_ in my dream was an alternate version of you.”

Bruce opened his eyes once again, slowly. Now, how was that a coincidence?

 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, English is not my first language. Easter eggs in this chapter! Easter eggs everywhere! xDD I didn't include 'Tim Drake' in this work because I thought the characters to be included here soon were too, too many. The 'Prologue' chapter is edited, to sate your curiosity (and mine too, actually. Aha! I'm excited!). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bruce was alone in the Wayne’s crumbling mausoleum. The dark afternoon sky and the downpour, cast a somber and longing atmosphere. He was leaning against the wall, facing his parents’ stones and watched the first purple Hyacinth petal plucked itself and fell listlessly. All living things would rot and die eventually. Raindrops tapped against the stained window of an unknown angel, giving noise to the unnerving silence of the tomb.

The quietness was akin to that night in the alley.

He remembered his mother’s pearl necklace – how they clattered and disappeared down the drain. How he clenched what was left of it at the police station, quietly waiting for someone who was willing to raise an orphan child. It turned out to be Alfred, good Alfred.

Bruce groaned, now was not the best time to reminisce. If Clark was right about the possible existence of an alternate, a parallel universe, then that dream they shared together, was real. His parents were alive somewhere, growing old, and he was never Batman to begin with. Bruce rubbed his tired face as he slipped out of the building, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He let himself soaked by the rain, pocketing his trembling hands in his coat, and walked out to visit Dick’s grave. He paused when he spotted a hunched figure on a wheelchair, under a black umbrella. And realized it was Barbara, now sporting a bun for her flaming-red hair, cleaning Dick’s tombstone with her handkerchief.

“Jason dropped me here.” She cleared her throat when Bruce stopped a few feet behind her, and swallowed. “I was cleaning my closet two nights ago, and I found a shoebox with my name written on it.” She straightened her back, stiffly, and chuckled. “It was Dick’s handwriting, you know how terrible his Y’s and U’s were. I-Inside, I found a letter and a ring box—“

Bruce shut his eyes, grieving, and mourning.

“The letter s-said he was planning on marrying me, t-to surprise me with getaway tickets to Thailand. He told me before he _went_ , that he didn’t care if I-I couldn’t walk or—“Barbara quaked, her tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. “It took me a lifetime to find it! That idiot…”

“I’m sorry.”

The auburn-haired Commissioner turned to him, her eyes were red as she sniffled. Wiping her tears with her sleeves, she shook her head. “Dick wrote about you too in his letter. ‘Take care of our dear Brucie, he’s getting old’. He was grateful that you adopted him, ‘till death, you were the first he thought of.”

“But I was the one who killed him in the end.”

“Dick disclosed Joker’s plans to destroy both Gotham and Metropolis with a nuke. And his plans to kill you,” Barbara murmured. “He saved you, Bruce.”

Unconsciously reaching a hand to massage on the junction between his neck and collarbone as he looked at the ruined manor, Bruce replied, “Barely.”

First, there was an ambush. The split second Bruce realized he committed a grave, careless mistake during his mission to capture Joker, he forced Alfred to leave the manor as quickly as he could. Save his surrogate father, before anything happened. Joker’s henchmen paralyzed him, without the Batman suit they knew who he was, scarring his skin with acid, and melted plastic and pocket knives. Then came the explosion and the fire. Jason, persuaded by Barbara, managed to rescue him just in time, annihilating most of the clowns as Dick went out all by his lonesome to Joker’s hideout. It was three days later than Jason returned to the cave, with a very dead brother in his arms.

“Stop thinking about it. None of it was your fault. I-I was much to blame too, considering I was the one who supplied you the information… and all.”

Bruce breathed, changing the subject. “How’s Jason?”

“You know, still Jason. Still the red daredevil skulking on the streets of Gotham,” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Since you’ve officially formed the Justice League with Superman and Wonder Woman, he’s been adamant on taking your place as the ‘Protector of Gotham’. Not as Batman, though.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Barbara bit her lip, and cautiously wheeled and approached her former mentor. “I meant to come. To see how you’re doing.”

She raised to touch his cheek gingerly as Bruce kneeled in front of her, she frowned at the aging lines and the years of battle and exhaustion now gracing his face. She wanted him to retire from fighting too, but Bruce would need buckets full of persuasions for that to happen. Bruce then spotted the silver band on her left ring finger. Diamond absolute, mother’s pearls, devotion.

“Jason told me the other day, he said Dick’s death took a toll on him too,” Barbara palmed his cheek, eyes begging. “Please, don’t shut us out, Bruce. We understand the pain you’re feeling right now, it’s unimaginable. You’re not alone, never—“

“Have you wondered why I asked you and Jason to leave?” Bruce interrupted her, and pointed at Barbara’s wheelchair. “Look what happened to you. I didn’t and would never want you to understand me. I asked you to stop fighting because you deserve so much more. And Jason, too,” Bruce muttered, stepping out of the safety of Barbara’s umbrella and turned to leave. “You’ll never get used to deaths like Dick’s… Or Damian’s. It’s best to just cut all ties.”

“Bruce!” she cried.

“Call Jason. And go home, Barbara.”

~*~

 

Victor and Hal were tinkering with the Watchtower’s newly invested, labyrinthine computing systems that stored multiple technologies Victor could get his hands on. Installing advance security codes; counter-measures and defense programs and mechanisms, contingency plans to secure another hundred layers of contingency plans, checking all power levels as Barry flashed and popped on the huge screen at their front. Slurping on a cold glass of Pina Colada, fiddling with the camera he brought along.

“ _Hawaii, and I’m drinking rum in the morning! Girls in their sexy bikinis, and look at their curves. Oh man… Not a good mix, I tell you, Hal_ ,” Barry started, showing the camera a clear and sunny view of the beach and the blue, blue sky. “ _My head’s killing me!_ ”

Hal laughed when Barry got slapped when he tried to flirt with one, as Bruce came to the deck, with Clark on tow. Victor curved a sly smirk when he turned to the notorious Batman by his shoulder, “I’ve just registered Flash’s transmitter. Teleporter’s online and ready to go, Bats.”

“Well done,” Bruce said, punching in a few keys, ignoring Barry’s delighted squeals at his arrival with the amused Clark Kent @ Superman. “Clean up after you dirty my Watchtower, Flash.”

“Have a nice trip, Barry!” Hal cheered, and Victor clicked on the ignition key.

“ _Wait, wh—_ “

There was a slight emission as Barry flickered and appeared in a mere second, on the deck of the Watchtower, whole and alive. From fabulous Hawaii to the dark, starry space. His freaking, supposedly impossible matter transportation via man-made _teleporter_. He was stupefied, overwhelmed by the notion that his fellow League members, not only just used him as the machine’s fucking guinea pig, but also defied the laws of freaking Physics. Under his cowl, he raised his eyebrows at the four men staring his way. His glass of Pina Colada had somehow vanished from his grip, disintegrated perhaps. Confused and face turning green, he vomited. Bruce, scrunching his face in disgust, stomped away to leave the deck. Muttering how Barry should have never consumed anything intoxicant-related beverages. Clark watched his sweetheart go, smiling and shaking his head at Victor and Hal’s fitful laughs at Barry’s poor sight before helping the speedster emptying his stomach at the closest lavatory.

The Justice League was officially formed near to two years ago, under the leadership of Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. The scattered meta-humans – all doubtful and fearful of the world’s reaction, previously under the strict surveillance of the now bankrupt LexCorp, were brought together by Bruce and Diana despite Amanda Waller’s ominous threats. And eventually, Clark surfaced alongside the meta-humans and Bruce. Into the fray, and uniting them as a team. When the universe was under attack, Green Lantern soon joined them, and Green Arrow too. The more, the merrier the fun.

And yet, Superman’s unexpected return still scared most by far. An angel, a God – shrouded in a mist of black with sparks of red, materialized out of nowhere when the sky thundered and screeched.

Lois Lane found a new love interest, whom she married and conceived a baby with. The love between her and Clark concluded since the day he was buried six feet under. She kept the ring, of course, but returned it to him – under one promise that Clark would quickly find his destined anchor, his world, to avoid the guilt he always felt. She had moved on with her life, Clark accepted it, respected her and their friendship. Bruce then found himself offering Clark a place to stay when said superhuman was not yet ready to return to his mother, they knew she was aware of his resurrection. Before the two realized at how far and long they had fought together – Clark was falling in love, all over again. So did Bruce. Feeling loved and cared for, Bruce couldn’t stop them. He wouldn’t admit his amour, nor say them out loud. In his mind, it would scream that he dearly loved Clark Kent. He even wished how good the world would be if only they were two _normal_ men, civilians.

Incidentally, Clark was the only one whom Bruce allowed to stay with him ‘till the end of the line.

~*~

Donning his new suit, admiring the added design Alfred had altered for him, Clark stepped into Bruce’s study and found his lover slouching in front of his computer – deep asleep. Strange, he thought, Bruce was always active after dark. He turned to the monitor, he could tell that Bruce was obsessing in finding the parallel universe they dreamed of. Head resting against his folded arms, Clark peered at Bruce’s face, relieved that his features were calm even though he looked a little fatigued. Clark quietly retrieved a blanket, from the emergency closet Alfred showed him once, in case this happened.

He covered Bruce’s frame undisturbed, listening to the soft heartbeats, and kissed the top of Bruce’s head before he went to make his rounds.

Amidst the stillness of the room, Bruce frowned in his sleep.

  _“—these coordinates are beyond our world, our freaking universe and galaxies! And you want me to create an archway, which is impossible by the way, to an alternate reality?” Luthor questioned, scoffing as he rested his hands on his hips. “Have you lost your mind?”_

 _Superman kept his attention fixed, vigilantly, to the monitors above him, global surveillance linked on a series of satellites. “Not create,_ fix _.”_

_Luthor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before he shifted to look at the machine Superman had brought for him. It was another one of Joker’s disastrous creations. “—machine has no hundred-percent guarantee of success. Why were you in Gotham anyway?”_

_Superman took a long silence, before he replied. “I had a dream,_ **he** _was alive.”_

_“Well, dreams are always shitty like that,” Luthor clicked his tongue. “They play with your mind.”_

_“It was real.”_

_“How can you tell?”_

_The superhuman faced him, his expression blank. Mournful. “I can hear his_ heartbeat _, I can feel him watching us right now. But I don’t know where.” He furrowed his eyebrows at the half-completed creation, and remembered Harley’s confession. “These coordinates are the closest to our time-frame, our exact parallel. Joker built this machine to kill at least one version of—erasing his existence completely. If there really is an alternate version of him, there must be a Joker. He must be stopped."_

_Luthor sighed, taking a seat on his workbench. “—there is only one—“_

_“Which is why I want you to help me get him back.”_

-

Bruce blinked his eyes tiredly and sat up, as if he was already awake, and whatever he just saw was only an illusion. He glanced at the clock, an hour past midnight and there was no one with him. He stared absently at his monitors when he heard Clark knocking on the wall, with a smile and a hot, steaming mug in one hand. Bruce accepted it but glared at him when he realized it was tea, he terribly needed his dose of caffeine but his superhuman lover only smirked, and perched his hip on the desk.

“You okay, Bruce? You look a little pale,” Clark stated, testing Bruce’s temperature on his forehead and neck. He frowned. “You’re cold.”

Tugging on the blanket still covering him, Bruce sipped on his drink and tried to answer casually. But failed, Clark could hear his frantic heartbeats anyway. His dream, or whatever it was, shunned him. He sighed, “…I just had this dream, like I’m watching something right in front of my eyes.”

“Flying demons?” Clark tried, crossing his arms against his chest as he watched Bruce shaking his head.

“Something else. Did you dream about that alternate version of me again?”

“W-Well, yeah. I figured it must be just another ridiculous dream, but it, too, felt real to me,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He hung his head low, dejectedly, before meeting Bruce’s waiting eyes. “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

Bruce breathed, “I dreamed about Joker killing me with a sheet of metal. Before that, he raped me and his goons murdered my employees.” He noticed Clark’s expression faltering a bit. “Was it the same as yours?”

“I’ll just pretend you didn’t ask me that question,” he replied quietly, there was no fury in his voice, only fear. Clark then took Bruce’s mug from his hands, placed it on the table, and reached out a hand to tip Bruce’s jaw up, bringing them close together, enough that Bruce felt hot breath tingling his lips. “It was a nightmare for me, not Sandman’s dream. I watched you die in my arms. I could see your life pulled away from you, inch by inch. Every breath, your blood, everything. It haunted me. Now, every time I wake up and knowing that you’re alive right here beside me, is enough to keep me sane.”

Clark rested his forehead against Bruce’s, and whispered. “You’re my world, Bruce. I love you.”

Bruce’s gaze blurred before he closed his eyes, cupping his lover’s face. Simply basking himself in the warmth of Clark’s unconditional love as he felt a gentle press of lips against his.

At the glass house not long after, Bruce was laid stretched on the center of his shared bed with Clark, arms covering his eyes, his breathing heavy and forced and his skin flushed beet red – with only his dress shirt to keep whatever decency left in him intact. Clark was shirtless, the zipper of his jeans was straining the hardness of his erection. His lips were somewhat swollen as he hooked Bruce’s right leg over his shoulder, evidently pulling his lover’s legs apart. Clark’s hands slid on Bruce’s sides, heating his skin like some sort of fire that left Bruce into a gasping mess. He whispered Bruce’s name, snaking his hands to remove Bruce’s arms from shielding his puffy, red eyes. Pleasure could do that to a man.

He leaned down to capture Bruce’s lips, tongues dancing, teeth clashing and biting, as Clark moved his hand down between their bodies. The quick, scraping sounds of a zipper followed by Clark’s grunt. Bruce went breathless, moaning when he felt the blunt head of Clark’s cock slowly rubbing and lining on his entrance. Then it felt too long, too suddenly, too much when Clark finally settled inside of him.

Clark smiled warmly, kissing the corner of Bruce’s lips before he whispered sweet, sweet nothingness into his ear. Linking their hands together, he began to move. Pulling out, pressed back in, a little deeper, and a little faster. Bruce keened, arching his back when all went down to pure bliss.

-

Bruce sat up against the pillows, freshly showered as he listened to the running water in the bathroom. He understood how painful it was to lose someone you loved, whether it’d be a dream or a reality. He took in the sight of their bedroom, their clothes thrown about and scattered, and the bottle of lube on the floor. He should hide that somewhere Alfred would never find, if only he could (that man’s eyes were sharp as a hawk). Bruce touched the bruised spot just beneath his collarbone, below the scar where his lover marked him, he felt pleased. When Clark stepped out, he quickly dried the water off him and slipped into the covers.

Like a child, with the exception that Clark was turning thirty soon, he pulled Bruce down to lie beside him so his arms and legs could wrap him up like an octopus. Bruce laughed that genuine ring Clark adored, burrowing his face below Clark’s jaw as he circled an arm around his lover’s back. Clark sighed happily, grinning as he smelled the sharp citrus shampoo drifting in the air between them.

~*~

Superman stood outside his fortress, observing the auroras waving and swirling, the stars unblinking and glistening on the dark sky above him. He recalled the cherished moments when he first brought Bruce here, despite the cold, he was giddy with excitement. How adorable he was as he snuggled close for warmth, and how beautiful he looked when he smiled. They danced together, spinning and floating in the air. That was when he dropped down to one knee, and asked Bruce to marry him. With a reporter’s salary, the bands he bought were embarrassingly inexpensive, but Bruce loved it and accepted it nonetheless. Now, he had them as jewels to his necklace.

In his hand was a vial of a pure blue substance, able to mutate one’s memories. First created by Joker, then modified by Dr. Stone. Superman had the coordinates of the different universe investigated, the machine repaired and prepared, and now, what was left was the long-awaited rescue mission. He then sensed Lantern’s presence flying towards him. He watched him dropped to the ice, and bowed.

“We’ve successfully raided the Insurgency’s eastern safe house, Superman. We’ve arrested thirty-seven of them, but Wonder Woman got away,” Lantern reported, raising his head. “Your orders, sir?”

Diana of Themyscira – the abandoned Queen of the Amazons – was once his most treasured friend and ally. But she betrayed him months after Bruce’s death, along with several others, fighting against his rule, his goal to make this godforsaken world a better place. It was only appropriate to show her how he could _never_ be beaten again.

“Public execution. Let them know they should fear us,” he calmly replied. “Then go on as planned.”

Lantern nodded, flickering in a murderous yellow glow, before he flew away. Superman returned his gaze to the sky, when his communicator buzzed.

Cyborg’s voice rang, “ _Superman, the portal’s ready and locked on_.”

“Good. It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why I put a lot of dashes in that dream sequence? It’s because it's a dream, it’s fragmented. And I write the shortest, most awkward sex scene ever DDx 
> 
> Oh yeah, cliffhanger... ughh.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.

Harleen wheezed, she clamped her hands and tightly twisting on the sheets she was settled on. She flinched at the endless, deafening sounds of gunfire and her followers’ cries. The cracks, dusts of pulverized stones and bricks of this wrecked asylum, followed by trumpets of explosions. Everything felt so bleak and scorched, and sounded like hell. She brought and adored the fear she saw in the eyes of her victims so many years ago, but now she herself in this total darkness, finally felt what terror was like. Shivering as she covered in her own gore, her wounds wept thick, red blood that made her vulnerable to death.

“—I came in too late.”

“Never mind about that. Harleen, can you hear me?”

She cowered at the voice, too rough, loud and terrifying. Beneath all those noises, Harleen couldn’t recognize whose voice it belonged to. She could sense something, someone, looming over her. But calmed when a familiar, gentle hand was placed on her forehead, wiping the sweat off her face. Soothing her like a mother she never knew.

“They’ve fuckin’ alerted the entire corps, we don’t have much time,” Deathstroke muttered, reloading his semi-automated handguns as he winced at the sickening batters of Hawkgirl’s lightning mace bludgeoning the skulls of his men, mercilessly. “We got to get out of here.”

“I don’t think our eastern shelter is the best place to go.”

“G-Go on without me…” Harleen pleaded, grimacing at the tangy iron she tasted in her mouth. “…I-I don’t think I can m-make it anyway.”

“We can’t leave you here, Harleen,” Wonder Woman said, wounding her arms around Harleen’s bruised shoulders and under her shattered knees, ready to lift her.

But Harleen cried out, struggling in Wonder Woman’s arms. “N-No! Put me down…!”

The Amazonian seemed pained when she lowered Harleen to rest on the bundle of now, bloodied sheets. She took note of her young companion’s dying mess. Harleen’s clothes were in shreds, her insides were ripped out, and the lids of her _empty_ eye sockets went unmoving, swelling and flattened. They made her blind. Wonder Woman held Harleen’s broken hand, tears rolled down her cheeks as she raised her head to Deathstroke. “Slade, return to Luthor’s lab as quickly as you can, and report to him of our situation. I will handle Hawkgirl and the Lanterns, I can buy you time.”

“Run that past me again?” he gritted, in disbelief, yanking off his mask. “We have lost so many, Diana. You’re our best chance in fighting against Superman. We are not going to lose you, _either_ one of you. If I’m leaving here, I’m taking both of you with me.”

“This is not up for discussion—“

“—This is never a discussion. Look what they’ve done to Harleen, Diana!”

Three weeks ago, Harleen was captured by the Lantern corps. It took the Insurgency 42 hours to trace her location, finding her imprisoned within the walls of the Arkham Asylum, along with many others. They were relentlessly tortured, for information and out of sheer, foul games the Regimes play. The security of the asylum was unsurprisingly conclusive, and when the Insurgency were finally able to infiltrate to save their allies, they were already too late. And Harleen was barely alive.

Then the Regime’s booming alarm broke off, calling for the mass arrest of the trapped resistance. Wonder Woman ordered Deathstroke to escape – to make use of their only window of opportunity. She narrowed her eyes at his reluctance, before he spat out a curse and bolted to leave. She freed her sword from its scabbard, the silver blade she promised Bruce she would never use, as Harleen tugged stiffly on her hand, asking for her attention.

“…Mr. Slade likes y-you, you know?” she curved a small smile, hearing Wonder Woman kneeling beside her. “D-Don’t bother staying, I’m already as good as dead.”

“Forgive me, Harleen.”

Harleen tried to giggle, but horribly failed when she hacked out the blood clumping and bubbling in her throat. When her forced breathing slowed, she heaved. “B-Before they took my eyes out… I-I saw Captain Atom... Big Supes' planning something really bad… Like my Mistah… J.”

Wonder Woman closed her eyes as Harleen fell dead. Frequent episodes like these for the past years, and the betrayal and the fall of Themyscira, were never her favorites. Especially when the supposed justly prosecution against those who were labeled as _criminals_ was carried out vehemently and unrighteous. That was one of the thousands of reasons why Wonder Woman abandoned Superman’s ideals and his authoritarian leadership. The battle outside continued on, her aid – not many of them left – was failing. But when the ceiling above her was torn apart, she was greeted by a bloodthirsty Hawkgirl, who tossed the head of Black Canary by her knees.

“Surrender, Diana,” Hawkgirl demanded. “You’ve lost.”

The proud Amazonian felt the anger she buried deep within her leaking as she stood, clenching the handle of her sword tightly. When she opened her eyes, she glanced at her waiting, _mocking_ adversary. “I promised a dear friend I would never use this blade. But you tempt me, Shiera. You’ve called war against me, I will never surrender.”

“Then so be it,” as she lunged forward with a cry.

-

Unfazed, she strapped her shield to her forearm and wielded both her sword and Hawkgirl’s deadly mace. Previously, she was pummeled down to the asylum’s basement during her fight with Hawkgirl – and now, she stood victorious whereas the Thanagarian laid cold and lifeless on the ground, with a missing head. Lighting the rage in Wonder Woman, war was declared. Floating in mid-air above, all ten Lanterns had her cornered. Colored in bright yellow, their presence echoed fear. Thaal Sinestro chortled at her state, alone and exhausted, sniping for her submission to Superman’s rule and began to chatter the beauty of a crimeless world. But Wonder Woman remained composed, bored, already lost in the heat of battle and in her rage as she moved to a stance.

“Very well,” Sinestro smirked. “Arrest her.”

She sheared the first three Lanterns who pounced on her, across their abdomens, untroubled by their agonizing cries. She hustled to the remaining Lanterns, one by one, she smashed and quashed their incoming projectiles, and destroyed their weak, makeshift shields. Dodging the chains that tried to bind her, she hauled and slammed the mace against a Lantern’s head, propelling him to two others before maiming them from their rings. Her sword plunged through one Lantern’s chest, enough to shun the weak and indecisive Lanterns, as she swatted yellow missiles away and thrashed another Lantern down to the earth.

Her lasso dashed for one, and hammered him down. Ten against one, she brought down seven of them single-handedly. Yet, despite all hatred, Sinestro caught on Wonder Woman’s distraction and succeeded in disabling her from all her weapons, and hemmed her in a cage. She hassled with the bars around her, attempting to break Sinestro’s concentration.

“Yield,” he growled, staring her down.

Wonder Woman spat, “No.”

Infuriated by her stubbornness, Sinestro willed the cage closer and narrower – squeezing and trapping her to her death, forgetting his orders to arrest Wonder Woman alive. Then a dark mist suddenly engulfed the entire cage, breaking his rapt attention as the mist dwindled and disappeared along with his captive.

-

In the grim quietness of Luthor’s lab, Deathstroke was nursing an injured arm as he waited as patiently as he possibly could. He blamed himself for cowardly leaving Wonder Woman behind, to fight against Hawkgirl and the hordes of Lanterns all by herself. Not like Lilian and Rose all over again, he thought, he couldn’t afford to lose another. As a result, their rescue mission was disastrous and had jeopardized their entire cause. After reporting to Luthor, he was shown massive amounts of data taken from the Regime’s Watchtower and they discovered five unusual cylindrical boxes – made out of lead, and magnetic components including plasma fuel, helium and hydrogen. These boxes were storing raw energy, to what cause, they didn’t know. Deathstroke had wasted the last hour consulting Luthor’s findings, disheartened at the growing list of the Regime’s lobotomized, assassinated and killed adversaries.

He glanced at the corner of his good eye when the door swung open, and Luthor skipped into the room with bundles of blueprints in his arms. Ignoring the young mad genius’ presence, he continued inspecting his other wounds.

Spreading a sheet of blueprint across his worktable, Luthor began as he perched on his chair. “She’ll be fine, Slade. She’s an Amazon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Deathstroke groaned, “Shut it.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to comfort you.”

“It doesn’t suit you. You’re making me cringe,” he grumbled, rubbing his face as he finished tending his cuts and bruises, trying his hardest to brush the awkwardness off Luthor’s attempt to console him. He then spotted the familiar drawings and sketches on the blueprint, and at a realization, he frowned. “Whatever happened to Joker’s machine?”

“Eh… Apparently, Superman had the machine sent to Cyborg, without my knowledge. I think he’s a little suspicious of me, nothing I can do about that. But!” Luthor sounded thrilled, taking out a strange device from the pocket of his jeans, and tossed it to Deathstroke. “I stole that delicate little thing, and have spent the last few days sneaking in the Watchtower, copying everything I could find about the machine’s frustrating mechanics. I think I’m going to tweak them a little bit.”

“You’re going to build another one,” he deduced, suddenly aware of the danger the quantum device in his hand might cause. “Does Diana know about this?”

“Yes, and yes. She’s the one who suggested it to me, actually,” Luthor shrugged, returning to study his sketches. He tapped his fingers restlessly against his thighs, irritated at Deathstroke’s eye boring at the back of his head. With a defeated sigh, “There are many conclusions, and intentions, to why I’m building a replica. One of them, is that Superman will destroy the original machine after his ruffians retrieve what he wants. Secondly, the cylindrical boxes are fuelled with powerful pure energy, now hidden in Superman’s fortress, may be used as bombs. Thirdly, the coordinates Superman found in Joker’s trash bin, meaning the universe the Regimes will be venturing to, is our exact parallel. Same space, same matter and energy, same physical laws and constants but different timeline, and the closest to our universe’s agenda with the Joker. And lastly, combining the first three together and then BAM!” He clapped his hands together. “Superman is planting the energy bombs in that alternate universe after he gets his prize, thus destroying our parallel… Annihilating all the heroes, the villains and the entire, innocent mankind.”

“Joker’s machine, it’s already finished, isn’t it?”

“Done and made. They’re watching _him_ right now, as we speak.”

Deathstroke threw the quantum device back to its owner, quickly digesting all the information he’d just received. Luthor rubbed his eyes, the towering discoveries he learned from the data he stole and from Superman himself, shunned him too. The desperation, the malice of the superhuman’s actions. He added, his finger following the chalk lines of his sketches, “There’s an old saying. If you steal something that doesn’t belong to you, someone has to make sure you return _that something_ back.”

Then Ares materialized in the laboratory, alerting his two allies, carrying an unconscious Wonder Woman in his arms.

~*~

“Where’s Clark?”

“Off to Kansas, sir, to see his mother.”

“Huh... How come he didn’t tell me?”

“Master Bruce, you look like you’re about to fall on that breakfast I just made for you,” Alfred said, placing a glass of orange juice on the countertop. “Please mind your head if you do fall asleep.”

Bruce grumbled, reaching for his fork but hanged his head when he yawned. “I’m not going to.”

Clearing the cutting board, knife and spatula, and the pans away, Alfred sighed heavily. “You haven’t as much rested nor laid on that bed of yours, you don’t go on parades in your Batsuit with your friends and you’re distancing yourself from your alien lover. For four days, pardon me for counting.” He moved to wipe his hands with a dishrag as he continued. “Master Clark has expressed great concerns, sir, for your health. And behavior. Miss Barbara, and Master Jason, included.”

Bruce blinked at the mention of his former Robins. “How?”

“They called.”

Shoving a crisp strip of bacon into his mouth, determined to be obnoxious like a child, Bruce mumbled when Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I can’t afford to go to sleep, Alfred.”

“Were you dreaming again, sir?”

Bruce nodded slightly, keeping himself quiet as he munched on his hash browns, appetite lost. He admitted, he was indeed exhausted, lethargic and sleepy, but the last dream he had – of his parents who were alive, and Dick, too – made him fearful to even close his eyes. These dreams, what did they mean? They crawled their way into his sleep in a broken sequence, upsetting him just because he once wished he could have lived a life where his parents were still breathing. He wanted to bask himself in his parents’ warmth, the love that he missed every day.

“I, too, am worried for you, Master Bruce,” Alfred started, interrupting Bruce from his brood. Worry now graced his features, the parental anxiety like a father to his son, as he folded the rag he had been holding. “Dreams are the greatest monsters, they can be persuasive. If it’s any consolation, I dreamed one ordeal last night.”

“About what?”

“The Joker had you killed, sir. And the events proceeded before and after, were too heartbreaking for me to say,” the aged Butler looked grieving, as if the dream foretold him of the future. Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing what exactly happened in that particular dream. Alfred took a deep breath, placing the folded rag by the sink and left the kitchen. Bruce lowered his head, breakfast forgotten, he didn’t have to ask – the pain Alfred felt was similar to losing a child.

-

An hour past lunch, and refusing to sleep, Bruce drove his Aston Martin to his Enterprises’ main office in the city. As he sped to the parking lot, he was greeted by Diana herself by the lifts. After the events with Luthor and Doomsday, Bruce found familial companionship in the beautiful Amazonian – like a sister he never had, she was dependable, clever and strong. She was also one of the few meta-humans whom he allowed to reveal this approachable side of his. Dressed in a stark business suit, her hair braided and tied up, Diana rewarded him with a smile.

“Clark told me to expect you coming here unannounced,” she grinned, her accent slipping as he watched him climbing out of his car. “You two are so adorable.”

He rolled his eyes, of course Clark would know and listen to his heartbeat 24/7. He ignored her. “Had your lunch yet? I’m thinking lasagna. And that cheese rolls they sell two blocks away.”

“I would love it if you order me a salad.”

“Done,” he smiled tiredly, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

She then frowned. “Victor streamed on the network last two nights, there were simultaneous sightings of strange electrical discharge all over the world. And Lantern discovered gravitational anomalies in dead space. He and Clark went to investigate them a little further.”

“I knew he wasn’t planning to go back to Kansas,” Bruce snorted. “Simultaneous, you say? Were there any casualties?”

When he was about to reach the lifts, Diana blocked his way, hands behind her. “You are supposed to be sleeping, Bruce.”

Bruce sighed, not again, he thought. Staring into the brown hues of her eyes, he clicked on the ‘up’ button. Realizing the alertness written all over her face and her stance, he asked. “What else do you know?”

“Dreams.”

“You’re right, I’ve been having so much of that since black zero event in Metropolis,” Bruce replied, stepping into the elevator and Diana followed after him.

“But the ones you dreamed of, you thought they were glimpses of memories or tragedies that didn’t belong to you. They looked real to your eyes.”

“…How do you figure?”

Diana straightened her back, staring at both of their blurry reflections as they ascended for Bruce’s top floor office. “I dreamed about you. You were wounded, scared… Killed. I myself thought my mind was only playing tricks. But when it repeated every night, where you were more helpless than the last – I know it’s a _warning_ , Bruce.”

-

After a cozy lunch with Diana, Bruce heeded her advice. Instead of retreating to his glass house, he drove to his cave and went directly to his study. He began listing out his dreams. He recalled and deciphered their chronological order, as best he could, and found gaps and mysteries in his search. There were recurring talks about a parallel universe, a machine perhaps a weapon, and a damaged Superman who was in search of something. Or someone – a _Bruce Wayne_ who popped in his dreams only once, and was unfortunately killed by a certain murderously deranged clown. The dreams were also affecting those who were closest to him, Clark, Alfred and Diana, but he figured Barbara and Jason suffered the same too.

But what about…?

That very night, Bruce, in his Batman suit, found himself sneaking along the shadowed hallways of the Arkham Asylum, evading the guards and the security cameras. He then reached the metal chamber that harbored and incarcerated his greatest enemy, the representation of the world’s fear. Outside, Bruce scrutinized the chains and belts that bound the madman tightly together, immobilizing him as he sat all by his lonesome in the middle of his barren cell. As Bruce slipped into the chamber, Joker snickered and slowly lifted his head – a sly, expecting sneer, and two rows of silver teeth, pulled his cheeks apart.

“Batsy, Batsy, Batsyyyy… It took ya a lifetime to pay me a visit,” he chirped, tilting his head to one side. “I had a dream about ya. It was a good dream, and I fuckin’ _loved_ it.”

-

Hiding on the jagged ridges beside an eerie stone-carved gargoyle, high above the cathedral’s bell tower – Bruce overlooked Gotham City bustling and blinking below him. Where clouds were cloaking the moon, he tuned out the faded noises of car honks, endless screeches of tires, chatters and fireworks, and turned to the soft landing of a person he was waiting for.

“Well, well. This is really a surprise,” Jason huffed. He tossed his launcher to the side, pulling back his hood and took off his red mask. “Here I thought you wouldn’t hang out with us chopped livers anymore.”

“I want to ask you something,” Bruce said, remaining on his ground.

Jason placed his mask on the ground beside him, reaching for his knife and leaned against a pillar. “Indulge me. But please, make it quick. I got myself some baddies to catch.”

“Did you dream anything strange about me?”

Jason hummed, “Apart from how you’re the worst father, and mentor, in the freaking universe? Nope.”

Bruce looked away, quiet as he stared at the city. He deserved that, he never did try to rebuild his relationship with Jason. He didn’t know how. He should know that Jason would never turn out the same like Dick when he adopted him. The atmosphere between them grew tense, and too heavy. Until Jason groaned, sheathing back his knife into its case. He flailed his arms a little and admitted, “Yes, I did, okay? I still do dream about you. Barbara too, when I asked her about it. I don’t think you’d care but the dreams felt too real.”

“Tell me what happened in that dream.”

He sighed, “Really, Bruce?”

And Bruce only mirrored his blasé stare.

“You were _stabbed_ to death, by Joker. No matter how much delight it would give me to say, ‘I told you so’ – I would still be worried about you. And your alien boyfriend cried over your grave, declared war against humanity. Satisfied?”

~*~

It was after midnight when Clark finally flew back to Earth. After a failed investigation with Hal, where the energy readings of the anomalies had long dissipated and absorbed by nearby newborn stars, he called off the search. Victor told them, the anomalies might have been black holes and the universe was really a mystery – but then again, they were only assumptions. Or a little paranoid, to ensure Darkseid would never return again. Clark told Hal to be ready, in case the aberration in gravity happened again. Soaring through the night sky, he followed Bruce’s steady heartbeat with a smile – he was at the farm. Clark would have a lot of explaining to do. Where the smell of wheat, dinner and home welcomed his nostrils, he landed quietly on the soft earth he recognized. The thought of having Bruce here in Clark’s childhood home, made him feel giddy.

Hearing the chirping cicadas and the gentle hooting of owls, his mother opened the door. Relieved, her arms were folded against her chest, shivering against the cold and worry. When the news of his resurrection invaded national television, Martha cried for days. She waited for him to return home, no matter how long it took, she understood his hesitance to see her. But when he finally did, accompanied by the man who saved her at the warehouse, and who revealed himself to be Gotham’s one and only billionaire and her son’s fortuitous lover, Martha was never angry with him. And Clark felt even guiltier to have left her alone.

Clark jogged to hug her on the porch, loving the motherly comfort she provided for him. Patting her son’s strong back, she pecked his cheek. “Bruce’s upstairs, dear. He didn’t reply me when I called for dinner, I guess he must’ve fallen asleep.”

He nodded, saying his thanks as he climbed up the stairs to his childhood bedroom. Bruce’s heartbeats were uneven now, frantic. He was awake. Clark knocked before turning on the doorknob, and saw his lover clothed in a t-shirt and gray sweatpants, sprawling stomach first on the bed, facing away from him.

“It’s strange for you to come here all on your own,” Clark teased, walking towards his dresser to pick out a change of clothes. “What changed?”

“I met Jason earlier tonight.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Clark frowned, using his super-speed did he strip out of his uniform and put on his favorite forest green pajama bottom.

Bruce sighed as he turned to face the plastic planets hanging on the ceiling, like infinite mysteries floating and out of reach. He closed his eyes when Clark perched beside him, reaching to card his hair, stroking his cheek. “I wonder if I should retire, drop the bat mantle. Jason’s more capable than me, he can take care of Gotham.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll just be like any other civilians. Be _normal_ , like I’m supposed to,” he said.

Clark then moved to lie on the empty side of the bed, tucking Bruce into the safety of his arms. Pressing his lips to Bruce’s forehead, as his fingers gently stroked Bruce’s nape. He understood Bruce’s alibi, the pain was incomparable. Dropping the mantle, would mean avenging his parents’ death and the loss of his sons, pointless. He hushed his lover quietly, wincing when Bruce let out a soft whimper.

“It’s okay to cry. Let it all out, I’m here.”

Bruce wept, his body shaking as he circled his arms around Clark’s shoulders. He was flustered by the dreams that attacked him, the worries of the people around him. He was confused. Clark kept running his hand up and down Bruce’s back, he wanted him to sleep out the pain and the tiredness away as he remembered the lullaby, the folk song, his adoptive father always sang to both his mother and him. The tunes were always dancing in his head whenever he returned to the farm, like an anthem for home sweet home.

Humming and testing the tunes, he pulled Bruce to rest his head against his chest.

 _“Oh, the summer time is coming_  
_And the trees are sweetly blooming_  
_Where the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the blooming heather_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?_

 _And we'll all go together_  
_Where the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the blooming heather_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?_

 _I will build my love a bower_  
_On yon pure crystal fountain_  
_And around it I will place_  
_All the colors of the mountain_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?_

 _And we'll all go together_  
_Where the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the blooming heather_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?_

 _And if my true love's gone_  
_I will surely find another_  
_And to you I will sing_  
_Things that make you know I want you_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?”_

 _“And we'll all go together_  
_Where the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the blooming heather_  
_Would you go, lassie, go?”_

And Bruce was sound asleep when Clark ended his song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called, 'Wild Mountain Thyme', it's kinda like country song-ish. And I thought how fluffy and adorable it will be if Clark sings it to Bruce. So, why not? xDD Steel yourself up for the next chapter, guys, things are gonna get ridiculously crazy.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for this late update, real-life has been, metaphorically and literally, creeping me out. Seriously. So basically, as one of the million fans out there, I'm researching all the information about Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel, Justice League Parts One and Two (rumors and stuff), DC comics and of course, the Injustice to make this work of fiction amazing. I found out that the battle between Superman and General Zod was called, the 'Black Zero Event', so I'm gonna change that one out (done). And also, this chapter serves as the starting point of something ridiculously bad, and parallels to chapter one.
> 
> So thank you for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks and supports and love and words of endearments, I'm so sorry that this chapter is short and I'll try my best to make a longer one on the next. I'm going for a long-deserved vacation next week, so I'm going to update chapter four a lot quicker - maybe. Unbeta'd, English is so not my first language.

Flashes of violets and marigolds painted the sky, the sun was rising when Superman stared heartlessly at the destruction of the once beloved Metropolis beneath his feet. It was an impressive duplicate, a portion of Atom’s power mutated by Dr. Stone to create a calamitous aftermath. He lurched to the now uneven ground, pebbles and dusts trembled and danced around him as he was surrounded by the hissing red flames and thick, acrid smoke. He spotted a child’s arm jutting between two stone debris, a broken doll rolled out of reach. The entire citizens of Metropolis perished, they were dispensable, lambs to be sacrificed. He wanted the sly wolves who fought against his rule, and the pigs who led them. Amidst the carnage, Superman spun to the moans of a dying Martian. He sauntered after him, dead blue eyes vacant as he took out a pouch of magnesium carbonate he’d specially prepared for dear, dear old J’onn J’onzz.

The Martian was weakened by the atomic explosion, crippling the other resistance and the population altogether. The world was shunned by the war between the meta-humans. It was a foul surprise. He could barely move, he couldn’t escape now that Superman had him cornered.

“T-This is madness, Kal-El… There will be no absolution for you!” the Martian cried as Superman showered him the scathing, white powdered salt that absorbed into and sizzled the alien’s jade skin, and severe wounds.

“I know,” he answered bluntly, emptying the pouch then tossed it aside. “But madness, you say? You took all the sanity left in me since the day you joined Diana. I thought, out of all, you understood my plight, J’onn. But no, you never did. You stole Bruce’s body from the mausoleum, cremated him. _You_ fed his ashes to Diana’s Cerberus. Now tell me, who is the mad one in this fight?”

“…It had to be done, we were only protecting you from destroying yourself. The Lazarus Pit could never bring Bruce back, you would only resurrect an empty shell… A _monster_.”

“But you forget, instead of the Lazarus, my fortress’ Genesis Chamber could resurrect him. I would have him by my side”—melancholy graced his features—“I would still be _good_ ,” Superman muttered, his eyes glared in bright crimson as he struck the Martian’s body with his heat rays. The fragments of magnesium carbonate flickered then combusted, roasting the Martian alive. Like a graphic portrayal of a burning torment in hell, the Martian struggled and wailed, eaten alive by the fire where water could never save him.

Superman stood three steps away, loathing at the repulsive smell of burning flesh, as he listened to the Martian’s spitting deathly cries and curses. He turned on his heels, growling, “I’ll let you feel the burn” before he took off.

~*~

A satisfying, dreamless sleep after so many taxing days, Bruce woke up alone on Clark’s bed, and found himself contented and warm. The birds were chirping so softly outside, the sunlight slipping between the turquoise blinds, and the rotating, plastic planets swung and clinked freely. Last night was a moment of weakness, he had allowed so many of them lately. He remembered crying and Clark was singing, rocking him ‘till he drifted. His eyes were swollen, and his throat was sore. He groaned away the embarrassment, oh, how stupidly romantic they were. This love liaison with Clark, could be the longest in his history. They had gone through a myriad of ups and downs both privately and professionally (mostly because of Bruce, who could blame him for his insecurities), but the mutual trust between them made Bruce truly faithful and honest to this ethereal form of life. And their life together, sleeping on the same bed and in each other’s embrace no matter where they were, sharing the glass house and not a lot of sexual but emotional intimacy, screamed domestic to his ears.

Bruce sat up, stretched his arms and flexed the tension off his muscles. He felt lighter, just a bit. Peeking at the outside world – today’s morning in Smallville, not the first and _hopefully_ would never be the last, was just as calming and beautiful like before. Late spring, he thought, it might be nice if he could take a breather around the farm. _Settle_ down, maybe.

Yet his dilemma still haunted him, nonetheless.

Catching faded noises downstairs and the tingling sweet aroma of Clark’s caramel pancakes, Bruce got up and washed his face, and went down to the kitchen. Clark was sipping on a hot drink smelled like coffee, bare-chested with his pajama bottom hung low on his hips, watching the morning news as he tended the stove. Multitasking, as usual. Stop showing off, Bruce thought, rolling his eyes. The superhuman smiled fondly at him when he entered, blue eyes admiring the tousled silvers of Bruce’s bed-hair, the soft and sleep-rumpled look in which Bruce failed to understand why Clark loved this morning mess of an old man so much.

“Good morning, B. You look better,” he greeted, kissing the corner of Bruce’s lips as he replaced his mug with a spatula to flip the cooked side of their third-round pancake. “Breakfast? I’m making our all-time favorite—well, yours actually, I just like how it tastes—Caramel pancake à la Clark, with a pill of multivitamin on the side.”

“Coffee.”

“It’s instant.”

“Don’t care.”

Clark shook his head when Bruce sat down, then sagged on his seat. His smile lingered on his face as he went to brew his human lover his morning dose of caffeine. Bruce blinked his eyes tiredly, he didn’t dream any sorts of bizarre nor curious nightmares and yet the exhaustion returned, and took its sudden toll on him. He stared at the vacant seats, the table seemed so huge and he felt so small. He longed for a perfect family tree where his sons would sit with him, his parents would dote on them, Alfred would try to concoct whatever strange recipes and Clark would… Smile warmly at him and hold his hand, shake out the nervousness, he guessed. Such bliss didn’t happen, of course, but with the exception of Clark’s affection.

Ignoring the low buzzes of the news channel and Clark’s complaints about his mother’s early shift at the diner, Bruce spotted and faltered at the flurry images, like prancing dusts shaping unrecognizable figures, materializing and sitting on the empty chairs before him. He sat upright, alarmed. Was he dreaming? Was this a _dream_? There were five of them, translucent silhouettes, stagnant and facing crookedly towards him. He paled when one silhouette whirled what looked like a hand to reach out to him. Yet as fast as they appeared, the dusts collapsed and vanished out of sight just as Clark turned to hand him his hot coffee. Bruce panicked, snatching his drink and took a big gulp. Hot coffee burned his tongue, poured down his throat like acid until he coughed—no, he wasn’t dreaming, or was he?

“Whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” Clark ceased, pulling him out of his dread, stealing the mug from Bruce’s now shaking hands. Bruce snapped his head to him, utterly confused. Clark set the mug aside as his eyebrows knitted in complete worry, holding Bruce’s hand and cupped his cold cheek, tilting his head. “Bruce. Look here, let me see,” with a flash did he use his x-ray vision, and sighed at the redness on Bruce’s tongue as he sped to retrieve a cold glass of water, “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

After chugging on his cold cure, he coughed and took a deep breath to steady his panic. He wasn’t always like this, what the hell happened to him? “I-I thought I saw—“

“What did you see?”

He quieted, ashamed, covering his face with both hands as he muffled his groan. Clark tugged on his wrists, hushing sweet words with ease. “Angel, won’t you tell me?”

Bruce took a quick, second look at the empty chair where the silhouette sat. Either he was starting to lose his mind, or his dreams were getting worse. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing.”

He tried to duck his head away from Clark’s fixing glare, but he was too tired to play stubborn and argue, and the grip on his jaw was starting to hurt a bit. Too much. Bruce narrowed his eyes when the superhuman glanced curiously at the empty seats, turning back to him with an upset look now etched on his face. Without a doubt and as usual, Bruce’s betraying, elevated heartbeats kept no secret from Clark. Nothing slipped past this superhuman any longer, ever since he decided to learn, master and make full use of his growing abilities.

Clark then dropped to the floor, on his knees as he spun Bruce’s chair to face him and pulled him close, crowding him on his seat. Bruce went quiet, squirming under his lover’s scrutinizing gaze. Strong hands rested against his, warm and tender. He didn’t want to talk about the dreams, or his dilemmas, please.

“I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t want me to know, and I’m not going to force them out of you. I hate to say this and I know you don’t want to hear it. Thompkins did say it might be fear induced psychosis that made you see these _things_. But please, just answer this one question for me. Be honest. Are you still dreaming?”

“Clark, it’s not—“

“Bruce.”

If he would call whatever horror he saw, about a few minutes ago, a dream – then, yes, he was still dreaming. Now, he wasn’t sure anymore. He could be hallucinating. But he lied, “No.” And Clark’s deepened frown told him exactly what he feared, doubt. Pressing his lips on Clark’s cheekbone, he tried to even his skipping heartbeats, “I just remembered something, okay? I’m fine, really.”

Clark pulled a tight smile, he knew Bruce was lying. And there was nothing he could to change such a bad habit. He stroked Bruce’s chin with his thumb, and quietly said, “Our first promise, do you remember it?”

 _Of course I do, don’t do this to me again._ “Yeah.”

“I will give the whole world to you, I will put my life on the line for you. You’ll have my loyalty,” placing a hand on Bruce’s chest, gently, “my security and my love. I promise that I’ll always be there for you. I’ll find you, I’ll follow you wherever you go, and I’ll stand right beside you. Every day I wish, I had found you sooner—“

“—so I could love you longer,” Bruce mumbled, their promise was like a mantra.

“And I promise to make up all the years that I’ve lost when searching for you, with smiles and kisses… Prayers for our happy ending,” Clark ended, brushing his lips against Bruce’s knuckles. “So be honest with me, Bruce, are you still dreaming of the Joker?”

_“Bruce…! Let go!”_

_“No, fuck you, Kent! You owe me!”_

_Apokolips was indeed a scorching ecumenopolis; fire replaced water, smoke for air, and auburn for night and day. All three Mother Boxes were destroyed. Darkseid was blinded and beaten, pummeled into his own portal, back to where he belonged. But his own hordes of screeching Parademons, growling and bloodthirsty, wrenched Clark into the closing gateway. Unfortunately, Clark’s super-flare made him temporarily vulnerable, it made him feel less like a god and more of a mortal – like Bruce. And the only anchor he managed to grab hold to, was Bruce’s hand, and the slipping grappling hook moored them from being swallowed into hell’s mouth._

_“—it won’t hold us both! I’ll come back!”_

_“Don’t try to be a fucking martyr again! You’re powerless for 24 hours, Darkseid will kill you!” When the gateway narrowed in, a sweltering, pounding wave knocked Bruce from his ground but he quickly braced himself. “…I took the bullet for you, I fucking waited for you! It took you long enough to come back, and you fucking kissed me!”_

_Clark screamed in pain, the weight and the stinging nails of the winged-demons pierced through his skin. Where were the others when you need them? “Bruce, I-I’m sorry! I really am! But you have to let me go…! I can’t risk having you stranded here with me!” Another pounding wave exploded, yet Bruce relentlessly held on. A stubborn look on his face, where his cowl had long been discarded. There was that look written on his face, he grew tired of losing someone he cherished. The two of them felt loved. “If w-we get through this, I promise t-to, love you with smiles and kisses!” He forced a laugh but abruptly stopped, and winced when one Parademon twisted on his leg._

_Bruce gripped on his grappling gun tighter, he could feel its electromagnetic force pulling them farther from the feeding portal, as he spent the entirety of his energy on making sure Clark’s hand did not slip from his. “—and if you let go of my hand, I’ll never forgive you!”_

_Then there was a sad smile curved on Clark’s lips, to what it seemed like a silent challenge and every noise was tuned out, Clark’s voice – deep, soothing, kindly – was the only thing he heard. “—I wish a new lullaby since the night I came back, to have met you sooner so I could love you longer.”_

Clark roused him from his memory, his loving caress on his cheek and the soft blue eyes that waited patiently, for his answer. When Bruce opened his mouth to reply, he came to a sudden realization, as Diana’s voice echoed in his mind. Clark seemed a little too manipulative, his reaction to Bruce’s panic was slower, calculating and quite differently than he usually did – this time though, he noticed even the slightest flaw, the longing in the superhuman’s stares and the way he treated Bruce like a fragile being. Like the _Bruce Wayne_ that appeared in his dream once. ‘Prayers for our happy ending’? The Clark he knew had never promised that before, the Clark he grew to love was aware that there was no such thing as a happy ending. Their enemies like Hydras, chop off one head another would replace it. And ‘Joker’?

_“—you thought they were glimpses of memories or tragedies that didn’t belong to you—“_

_And now I’m awake in my own dream._ Bruce froze. He could be experiencing maladaptive daydreaming, a false awakening or worse, psychosis. This was not real, this was a dream. He was still sleeping. But why didn’t it feel like one? Why couldn’t he wake up?

He blanched, his eyes widened in terror, alerting Clark who now cradled his face, his mouth was moving but he couldn’t hear him. Then the dusts took shape again, looming and darker, circling him like hungry vultures. Closer, snickering, laughing. He couldn’t breathe, and his body was quaking. He screwed his eyes shut, needing everything to disappear. Wake up, Bruce!

“Bruce.”

Then the laughter stopped altogether and silence filled the air, Bruce whimpered when a hand grasped his arm. Was he awake? He couldn’t tell. He opened his eyes, but the silhouette, now with a given _face_ – disfigured, broken jaw, rotting flesh, and hollowed eyes – greeted him in Clark’s place.

“…No! No, no!” Bruce screamed, jerking his arm away as his chair toppled down to the floor. He scrambled out through the back door, his panic was paralyzing him. Spring morning had turned disastrous; the wheat fields were smothered in flames, the sky was dark and bloodied red, the earth was trembling and everything was nothing but fire, fire, **FIRE**! He collapsed to his knees when his legs refused to run any longer, curling to himself when the booming sounds hurt his head. Vulnerable. There were people screaming, shearing cries, monstrous roars. Bruce brought his hands to cover his ears, forehead scrunched on the dirt, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could.

“…Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

_“Listen to me, Bruce! You have to fight it! You have to open your eyes!”_

“Wake up, Bruce… Wake up!!”

“BRUCE!”

Bruce snapped awake, and Clark’s bedroom was the first that crossed his mind. The plastic planets clinked idly, the door and the window were wide open. It was nighttime, earlier than he thought he would, as if the second he closed his eyes – drifting along Sandman’s road – that harrowing _dream_ clamored in. He didn’t go anywhere, he never left the room nor the bed. He didn’t drink a hot morning coffee, the smell of pancakes were never there, nothing happened. It was only a nightmare… Or a false awakening, maybe. Drenched in sweat, his heart was pounding painfully against his chest and his throat was hurting. Like he had spent those terrifying moments screaming for help. He couldn’t catch his breathing, his eyes were wet – fresh tears rolling down his cheeks – until he realized that Clark’s arms were wounded around him, trapping him in his embrace. His back to Clark’s chest, grounding him. Clark’s presence remained solid behind him, breaths in staccatos, and Martha appeared before them – wiping the sweat off his face, like the mother he missed.

“Oh, Bruce. Are you all right, honey?” she said. “I’ll go get some water, okay?”

When Martha left, Bruce stirred then sunk in Clark’s arms, whimpering his name. “C-Clark…”

“Shh, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, shifting Bruce to his side so that he could curl and lay his head against his chest. Clark brushed away the tears streaming down Bruce’s cheeks, kissing his forehead, his temple. “Nothing happened, Bruce.”

“…I can’t stop it,” Bruce wept, clutching on his lover’s forearm. The gentle drumming of the superhuman’s heart calmed him compared to his own. “I-It’s getting worse.”

But then Clark tensed, jerking his head to the window with a frown. Not a second after, Bruce’s phone rang from the nightstand. Clark quickly grabbed for it, and answered.

_“Bruce? Bruce, where are you?”_

Diana’s voice was loud and clear, yet there was a slight, unusual distress in her voice.

“Bruce’s right here with me at mom’s home,” Clark replied.

Her breath caught with a hitch, as if she was running, followed by strings of shouting voices in the background. _“We need you two back in Gotham, we’ve been compromised—Amanda Waller had Captain Atom arrested. She suspected him for the bombing at the Arkham—“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause I like to add some spice to make everything nice. But everything tastes so cheesy, so add some salt and pepper. Let's go hang off a cliff together, I can't wait for the next chapter (too)! <3 I'm ecstatic!


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to make you feel sympathetic to Kal-El. Muahahahahahaha! <3
> 
> Unbeta'd, English is so so soo not my first language and I'm terribly sorry for this very late update. But I'll be posting a spin-off called 'String Theory' and the next chapter soon, so keep a lookout on those!

“Angel, my love – I had a dream about you. You caught me by surprise, seeing you right in front of me. You were _alive_. I could feel the warmth in your gaze, your touch. I could hear your voice… It was you. I miss you so much, Bruce.”

Then parroted a static sigh. _“—Feels like home.”_

Superman – Kal-El – found peace aboard the dull quietness of his fortress, the only place that housed his most cherished recollections; of both his departed husband and parents, and home. Kelor zoomed past him, heading towards the Genesis Chamber to prepare potential embryos and wombs as ordered – for a long-awaited rebirth, the dawning of a new race and a new hope. He opened his eyes to see a blurry holographic form, a repetition of what he witnessed to every day, of Bruce whom he loved and dearly missed. Kal sadly smiled, wearing a mask over his grief as he drank himself drunk in Bruce’s presence – how full of life he looked. His husband’s back was facing him, strolling down the passageway to the cockpit, fingertips trailing lightly on the wall, admiring the gray liquid geo projection of the planet Krypton Kal long lost.

_“Do you think humans could live on Krypton? Under the red sun?”_

“Well, the gravity’s a little heavier. The atmosphere might be too difficult to breathe in, but I do think you could,” Kal said automatically, his smile widened as he followed, watching the glee forming on Bruce’s face. This holograph would always ask him the same questions, and Kal would always reply the same answers.

 _“I believe you. It’s such a shame, though,”_ – Bruce said when the projection of the dead planet vaporized – _“Krypton would be perfect for a summer getaway, don’t you think?”_ he chuckled, his attention then shifted to the gold ring now gracing his finger. Love was written on his beautiful features, years of exhaustion and age were softened with affection and happiness. And a little empathy. _“Do you miss it?”_

Bruce’s questions, like a curious child. “I don’t know. I was only a few days old to even remember how my mother looked like. But it hurts me to know I’m the only one left.”

Honestly, given the current situation, that was what he felt. Lonely.

The holograph then approached him, his hand shyly extended and stroked Kal’s cold cheek, his thumb caressing one cheekbone. The superhuman let the semblance grew closer, the fervor might not be similar to what he adored and remembered, but his everlasting memories of Bruce’s love and companionship kept him yearning. _“But I’m here now, you’re not alone anymore. What can possibly happen, Clark? You’re the greatest **man** alive. You and I, have nothing to worry about.”_

Man, how ironic that sounded.

 _I held you in my arms, Bruce. I watched you die. You were taken from me, and now I’m all alone._ Kal closed his eyes, leaning on Bruce’s palm like he used to do. It was cold and empty, like air. After all, this was a recording of one part of their shared memories. “Can I ask you something, Angel?”

_“Sure.”_

“What will you do if I die?”

Bruce faltered when Kal raised his eyes, awaiting for the answers he already knew. _“Revenge will be the first thing I do. Then I’ll try to move on, I’ll try to smile more, I’ll wait until Dick and Barbara get married, and Jason to finally finish his degree. I’ll grow old and… And then, more and more, I’ll forget about you – won’t I?”_

“I guess.”

 _“But you know, I’ll cry,”_ Bruce’s hand lowered to rest on Kal’s shoulder, fiddling with the folded edges of his red cape, eyes somber. _“Probably when I wake up in the morning and before I go to sleep at night. When I suddenly remember you, when I think that you’re not here anymore. I’ll cry.”_

Kal casted a mournful look, thinking that was exactly what he did right after Bruce’s death. His husband’s presence, was metaphysical when he tried to cup Bruce’s cheeks, and said, “I’ll cry too, for losing you. I’ll go mad…”

_“—Let’s go back, to our house, okay?”_

Then the holograph disappeared, crumbled into a million blinking stars and vanished beyond the ship’s walls. Kal remained stagnant, his hands clutched and longed for Bruce’s solid presence. The entire cockpit fell morosely silent. He was forsaken, again. “There’s no house to go to, Bruce. This ship is our home now.”

_“A-Angel, Angel—I’m here, look at me, B! Look at me,” Kal stammered, closing his hand around the large wound chambered on Bruce’s stomach. He turned Bruce’s head upward, praying his husband wouldn’t choke on his blood any further. And quickly did he try to heal him with his rays. “You’ll be all right.”_

_“…C-Clark,” Bruce coughed, whimpering at the seething, burning pain. “I can’t…! I can’t do it—“_

_“Keep your eyes open, eyes on me, okay? For me, do it for me,” he pleaded as he tried to heal his love—his world—but Bruce’s upset cries disturbed him. He felt the slithery graze of intestine and blood between broken ashen skins, beneath his sweaty palm. Tears streamed down Bruce’s bloodied cheeks, he was trembling and dying –_ please, please, don’t cry, Angel. _“Bruce, I beg of you... Please—“_

_Bruce’s breathing then slowed, his body limping._

_“…Don’t do this to me, Angel, please. Don’t do this to me, don’t leave me,” Kal muttered, planting his forehead on his husband’s. “Y-You’re my world, I can’t live without you…”_

_Two difficult seconds, Bruce finally surrendered himself. Too tired to fight, to live. “…I love you.”_

And that beautiful dream Kal had, the soothing calmness of the farmhouse and his Bruce – though indifferent, insecure, and a doubting version of his long lost true love – with the blue vial he had in his possession, he could fix that. He could reconstruct this parallel Bruce’s memories to his husband’s. It was a subconscious message he had expected for years, he was nearly there. And he was going to save Bruce, and this time he would protect him at all costs. Kal knew he would disrupt the space-time continuum, changing the entire existence of his human lover’s past and future generations even, but he would also spare the lives of so many of his husband’s alternates. This Bruce was the closest even though different – they would be at the same age, finally – and he had just helped them eliminate that foul, foul Joker.

He thought, one down, four to go.

Kal exited the fortress with a dark glower, and shot up to space as he headed for the Watchtower. He found Cyborg and Raven, clacking at the main computer, assessing the carnage in Metropolis of those who died and disintegrated, and the damage done. People began to fear them after ten years, now heightened as they cowered in submission, as they should be. They were meant to be ruled, by a _God_ like him.

Cyborg noticed him scouring the footages showing on the screens before them, of aids and raids and riots happening all over the world, and one in particular, was the parallel universe they had been spying on. “Their Amanda Waller took the bait, Superman. Everything is according to plan, they’re now transferring the boxes to Metropolis.”

“And their ‘Superman’?”

“Arrested.”

Kal scoffed at Waller’s stupidity, crossing his arms as Sinestro appeared via the tower’s teleporter, and reported to him of Diana’s whereabouts. The bounty to capture the Amazonian was great, to present her back to her gods, her imprisonment in the afterlife would be inexplicable. How satisfying her screams would be to his ears. After Metropolis, the entire mess of insurgents were famished of their followers, leaders and assets. Kal proceeded to order Sinestro and his corps to ambush and wipe out the Insurgency’s entire safe-houses in Gotham – to welcome Bruce’s homecoming – as three of his most trusted wolves, Aquaman, Shazam and Lantern, arrived on deck as summoned. And Luthor turned up too, with his hands shoved in his pockets, walking to stand beside him.

Luthor sighed, “Metropolis has been wiped out of existence, Kal. It will only raise curiosity, especially to an outsider from another dimension. And I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do, and I only ask for you to sit back and relax.”

“There is only one Bruce, as I told you before,” the young genius tried. “There will be repercussions.”

“There will always be no matter what I do. And with a Joker lying around, plotting, in a faulty asylum will never stop said repercussions from happening, Lex,” Kal replied. “I took _one_ out of million pictures, at most, I saved all. This _Bruce_ , is my prize.”

He activated Joker’s fitted machine once Sinestro left to resume his search – blinding white light shone through the endless gateway, winds surging through and howling. Kal handed the vial to Lantern, his second in command.

“You know what to do. Bring him safely to me.”

Lantern nodded his head, following Aquaman and Shazam into the portal.

~*~

Bruce dropped down from his Batwing to the hustling and crowded arena of Gotham STAR Labs for transporting units, donning his uniform as he joined the rest of the League present – but Clark, shockingly, wasn’t among them _. I’ll go ahead first, see if I can knock some sense into them,_ was what Clark promised him before he flew off, though with worry. Four cylindrical boxes were collected and stacked, as previously briefed by Alfred during his ride, they contained raw and unstable radioactive energies – lethal explosives, able to erase the entire country even. Arkham, as he had investigated, was destroyed. Burned down to ashes, the patients were all declared dead. Joker included. The cylinders, each locked in a, perhaps secured, glass container, were now in the government’s possession and under Amanda Waller’s strict supervision. He was distracted by his dreams and he let this happened.

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as Arthur and Barry – heaving, as if worn down by a fight – made way for him, beside Captain Atom who was detained as Diana revealed, was Clark. He too was imprisoned in one container, struggling to breathe amidst thick Kryptonite gas, as his cell was guarded by heavily armored soldiers.

“—I have warned you so many times, Batman. Meta-humans are not to be associated with,” Waller snapped, hands behind her in a show of superiority. “By decree, both Superman and Captain Atom are to be prosecuted, on account of the destruction of the Arkham Asylum. 346 patients; doctors, assistants and officers were murdered, perished by a substitute recreation of a nuclear bomb. And here I remember you once said to me, that these so-called heroes would bring justice to the world? All I can see is fear.”

“What evidence do you have against them?” Bruce questioned as calmly as he could.

“Security and phone recordings, witnesses. I have plenty,” Waller smirked, bellowing at the soldiers who guarded Clark’s cell to reduce the dosage of Kryptonite gas, alluding to give Bruce a chance to say _farewell_. “I’ll be using Gotham-Metropolis STAR Labs to avoid any more risks from the public. These catastrophic energy bombs are enough to cause panic, we don’t need a repeat of black zero event. You should thank me, Batman, for not arresting _you_ this time.”

He could hear the crunch of Diana’s leathered sword handle on his right, Hal’s mumbled curses and the dissatisfied space of his other fellow League members. Only Bruce was allowed to approach Waller’s two detainees. He ignored her smug stares as he walked towards Clark first, who was thankfully given mercy on the Kryptonite. On all fours, Clark raised his head to greet Bruce with a forced, pained smile.

“…I didn’t trust my instincts, Bruce,” Clark whispered, clenching his hands in his attempt to control his anger. “I should have seen this coming.”

Bruce wanted to reach out to him, place his hand on the glass that separated them both. But there were eyes watching them. “I know you’ve been with me the whole night, Clark. You sang me to sleep and you woke me up. I know you never left.”

Clark’s brows furrowed in worry, again. “We made a vow, B. You’re my world—I can’t imagine life without you… I will never leave you.”

And Bruce believed him, he would always trust him. “I’ll try to find a way to get you out—“

“—But you have to clear Atom’s name first. I peeked at the videos Waller intend to charge me with,” Clark winced, lowering his head. “ _He_ looked a lot like me.”

“A shapeshifter?”

“I’m not too sure, but I have a bad feeling about him,” he sighed, then glared at Waller whom he spotted tapping her stubby finger impatiently against her wrist watch. “Listen to me, Bruce. You have to find whatever you can to prove Atom’s innocence, proving mine will take even longer. I’ll keep a close eye on those cylinders for you. I’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

Bruce grunted, inspecting the light green fumes lingering in Clark’s crowded cell. “Judging by the amount of Kryptonite you’re inhaling right now, you can’t tell me to stop worrying, you piece of—“

“I’ll live, Bruce. Through this, I can buy you time,” Clark defended, curving a small smile only for his lover’s eyes. “But I’m more worried about you, I want you to be careful.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, watching Clark mouthing ‘I love you’ before he turned to Atom, who was detained in a similar cell a few meters away. Confusion and disappointment were written on the man’s face, hands were shackled. Kneeling on the floor, he looked so small.

“I didn’t do it if that’s what you’re wondering, Batman,” Atom insisted. “I don’t even know how my powers are stored inside those boxes.”

Bruce crouched in front of him. “I believe you. Where were you in the last 24 hours?”

“Watchtower, mostly, and around orbit,” he recollected then frowned, as if he came to a realization. “There were these flashes – like visions. I saw the entire universe collapsed, the time and stars and planets gone, living things, humans were reduced to nothing. I felt a pull, and I heard your voice somehow—but I knew it wasn’t yours. It led me here,” he pointed at the cylindrical boxes, “I found one in Arkham, and the next thing I knew, it exploded. And Waller arrested me.”

“You couldn’t contain it?”

Atom scowled, gritting his teeth, banging his shackles against the glass. “—I couldn’t. Your _Superman_ distracted me. You want to know what he did? Nothing! He didn’t even bat an eyelid on the people inside the asylum, and I don’t care if they were criminals or not! I thought our purpose was just, Batman, saving people but not kill, and he only stood there grinning like he was a **God**.”

Bruce swallowed, glancing at Clark whom he knew was listening as the superhuman seemed stunned at Atom's accusations. But he had spent the last hours of his time with Bruce at Smallville, who could the doppelganger be? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, shit.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this late update again, but here it is! Unbeta'd, but please, do enjoy <3 I appreciate all the love and comments, sigh, what would I do without you guys? :D
> 
> How does Jason look like inside my head? Well, look up 'Arkham Knight'. Yep, I know! xDD Oh yeah, you guys should watch Injustice 2 teaser trailer, I've been heavily inspired by that.
> 
> Listen to this baby-boo while you read this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uxz2QP8ItQE

Waller had rendered the entire League speechless by arresting _the_ Superman, trusting mankind’s most inspiring icon and one of the League’s three founders, with nothing but Kryptonite fumes and perhaps a substantial glass cell. For all they knew, neither firepower nor the ironic _steel_ could ever stop him. Even under extensive exposure to red sun, as Bruce attempted once, Clark had drastically improved over the years. Bruce trusted Clark to fend himself wisely against Waller – with or without that damned Kryptonite – he could easily break free from his crowded prison, and hoped that this show of weakness was only a ruse. And through the bright blue hues of the superhuman’s eyes, yes, it was. No one could apprehend Superman, even Darkseid failed, shockingly. Quietly did he watch the soldiers escorting his lover’s cell away, followed by Atom’s, as they were to be transported to their holding bastilles immediately in Metropolis. It was a poor decision made by a government agent like Waller herself, to involve hazardous explosives to another city.

Waller straightened her back as she studied the remaining eight heroes, until she zeroed in on Bruce.

“The best I can afford is to give you time until dawn, Batman,” she badgered, and checked the time. “In four hours, if you manage.”

Glancing to the now closed doors of the laboratories’ research units, he questioned, “Why involve Metropolis? Why not San Francisco?”

The STAR Laboratories in San Francisco were specifically designed, built to study meta-humans and their otherworldly physiology and psychology, and surely said facility could contain massive amount of man-made nuclear energy.

“Hmm, a good suggestion. Maybe I will order an acute examination on the Kryptonian soon. With him being dangerous, and _immortal_ , so to say,” Waller arched a crooked smile, holding her hands to her front, challenging him. It was always a tough battle of wits whenever she and Bruce, in his Batman persona, clashed. Bruce would always win, eventually, but this time – Waller had the upper-hand. “Gotham is a dead city, Batman. If Metropolis is ruined by those cylinders, the fault is on you. Why? Take a look at Arkham. You’ve spent years arresting those criminals, who knows, maybe you’ve gotten tired of seeing them escaping every single time. You and your so-called _Justice League_ has failed to subdue incoming alien threats, causing another unfortunate destruction that took away millions of lives, and will thus be deemed as a part of domestic terrorism. The best part is that you’re a human in a crowd of super-powered individuals, you’re the best target. I think now is a good moment for me to say this – I **win**.”

She quirked a smirk as she spun on her heels to join the rest of her smug underlings, and left.

_We’ll see about that._

Hal cussed, the glow on his power ring had long dimmed. “I’m making it official, I hate that woman. So much.”

“Did she seriously think I’m a meta-human too?” Oliver mused, scratching his beard as Billy shrugged, anxiety forming in his exhausted posture. “Maybe the arrows gave me away, good to know.”

“I feel, she’s taking the matter at hand too personally. She knows Batman longer and better than she knows any of us,” Diana quipped, sliding her sword back into its scabbard, and Arthur only grunted in response. And they were right, Superman was the heart of the Justice League and an excellent leader despite his age, a good friend. And one’s promised, to Bruce. By stripping that hope away, limiting the superhuman’s freedom, Waller knew she would strike Batman’s nerve. And she, unconsciously, did anger the man wearing the cowl. “She is similar to a Hydra, she spits poison and one of so many heads.”

“You need to work on your metaphors there, Diana, it creeps me out just by imagining it,” Hal shivered.

“I did try hacking my way into the government’s security system earlier, but Waller had me swamped with viruses,” Victor added, tapping his finger on the metal half of his head. “I can search for another alternative, but it’ll take me some time.”

“We’re not gonna wait for that, and leave Supes, right?” Barry piped, stretching his legs. “I mean I know he’s stronger than any of us here, and we only have less than four hours to figure this shit out.” He turned to Bruce, and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

Investigate, Bruce thought tiredly, and fast. He would admit that Atom’s alibi seemed a little too precarious, maybe he was being biased, but he would try to prove the man’s innocence nonetheless. And Clark did say that Waller’s videos had captured the face, the entire being of the man who resembled and framed his lover completely. And Bruce needed to seize hold on those recordings soon. Barbara might be helpful, if she was willing, after whatever blues that happened between then during their last meeting by Dick’s grave. He was sure, the former Batgirl and Jason were keeping tabs on this problematic situation. But what bothered him the most, was the voice Atom heard amidst the void areas of space. It was largely impossible, excluding the electromagnetic vibrations in matching wavelengths hypothesis, sound travelled through the vibrations of particles and atoms in _mediums_. To hear a voice, especially Bruce’s voice, where he had no knowledge about the cylinders until now, made everything even more complicated.

How could he have allowed this?

“We may be on the lookout for a doppelganger,” he tried, earning a disgruntled wave of disbelief from his fellow League members, with the exception of the Amazonian and the stoic Atlantean. Then it dawned on him so suddenly, as he connected both the gaps and mysteries of his dreams with the situation he and the others were facing together, that there might really be a parallel universe. The electrical discharges all over the world, as Diana told him before, the anomalies in gravity, the voice and the ‘doppelganger’. It seemed like a strange pattern. If so, then something worse could happen if they were already here, and _seen_. Diana, too, came to a realization when Bruce turned to her, she noticed him growing pale. “Unless—“

“—unless it’s not a doppelganger,” Diana finished his sentence for him. What had crossed her mind, she feared for the safety of her family, her people, and her friends and of course, she was protective of Bruce. He was one of the few whom she trusted when she first returned. “We’re dealing with an alternate Superman.”

-

_“Master Jason is currently waiting for you outside the quarantine zone, sir.”_

Victor located the places where the cylinders were discovered. Bruce had tasked his League members accordingly, to recover for lost time – where Hal took the liberty of flight to the endless depths of the universe, seeking the Guardians’ guidance, searching for the anomalies and would try to replicate Atom’s alibi if possible. Diana and Oliver, took off to the haunted Sea of Trees at the base of Mount Fuji with the help of Hiro Okamura; Barry and Billy to an overwrought slum in Brazil, Arthur to the deepest Pacific Ocean and Victor to a remote, friendly village in Scotland. Bruce, in the meantime, remained in Gotham. And assumed the responsibility to visit the destroyed asylum – much to Diana’s dismay and worry for his safety – a place where patients were often mistreated and dehumanized.

_“What’s the matter, Bats? You’re lookin’ a little too white there—oh! Did I hit a nerve? Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry! Oh no, no! We can’t have that! Think about your morals, buddy! Your reputation!”_

_—Bruce stayed at the darkest corner of Joker’s barren, filthy, acrid-smelling cell, and kept his silence. He trained his eyes at the grinning, beaten clown, crossing his arms against his chest as he was cautious at Joker’s antics to tick him off._

_“Batsy, c’mon, talk to me! I haven’t talked to anybody decent in years, I can’t make friends with those cuckoos out there! I feel so lonely,” Joker sulked. But when Bruce stood motionless, ignoring his fake pleas, he exasperatedly groaned. “Fine, fine, I’ll play along with your party-pooper treatment… So, what was it again? Oh, yes! You wanna know about my dream, eh? I’ll tell ya, hehehe, I’ll tell ya!”_

_The clown scooted forward, his chair scraped heavily against the tiled floor, and the chains on his dirty strait jacket rattled when he leaned closer – as if he was telling a deadly secret. “You, my pointy-eared friend, are gonna die. Finally! Somebody we both know – and love! – is gonna break ya.” Like it was a funny joke, he cackled out loud. He gasped, tipping his head backward, his body shook with endless laughter, “—there’s nothing as cruel as memory, eh, Bats? Especially if you’re walkin’ down someone else’s lane! HAHAHAHA!”_

_Bruce narrowed his eyes, there were so many potential suspects. “Whose memories?”_

_Abruptly, Joker stopped laughing. “My, my… You sound so scared.” His head jerked upright, his grin growing sinister and wide, wider, splitting his face. “You really don’t know, do you, Batsy?”_

Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane was located on the outskirts of Gotham, thankfully. The contamination of radioactive particles were miraculously contained, though the atmosphere ranging from borderline seven to nine miles radius surrounding the wrecked madhouse were still unstable – resulting on the extreme damage to wildlife, and the forced evacuation and relocation of the houses nearby. With the impermeable and titanium-liquid armors upgraded between the safe layers of his bodysuit, he need not worry about his sudden exposure to concentrated radiation. He was the most able, to explore here, than his fellow teammates. And being the only person crazy enough to stand on the middle of an abandoned quarantine zone, Bruce quickly assessed the scene. He tested the blanched soil and frowned when the dirt disintegrated into fleeting dusts. Overlooking the devastation through his gas mask, he expected the blast to be off-course, volatile, reaching the city. But it was somehow prevented, restricted to the compound only. He had to delve into that mystery a little further.

_“—hey, uhh, Bats?”_

Switching the lenses of his cowl to night-vision, Bruce could feel the heat radiating in the air, and the light smoke wafting off the ground. “Go on, Lantern,” Bruce said, grimacing when he found bodies fried on the cracked earth as he scoured deeper into the ruins, despite Alfred’s constant warnings in his ear.

_“Okay, so I asked the Guardians about this alternate Superman you and Diana were raging on about, but they’re being cryptic as fuck about it. But, they did say that our universe is changing.”_

“ _Our_ universe?”

_“Apparently, you were right about that parallel universe thingy. For millions of years, we’ve been living in a space with multiple versions of universe. Unfortunately, ours is converging with another, and it shouldn’t have. Something has disrupted the balance of the two and—“_

_“—wait, wait, hold on a sec! You’re saying there’s also another me, another us in another universe?”_ Billy interrupted. _“Oh, man!”_

_“—shut up, Billy. I’m having a serious, adult talk with Mr. True Blood here—“_

_“Bats, do you think the part where Supes becomes a dictator is real? Somewhere in a different universe?”_ Barry chipped in, ignoring the now muted squabbles of his two friends completely. Before Barry officially joined the League, when he was still doubting over his powers, Bruce told him about that strange nightmare – a hellish, painful, desolate world with Superman as its tyrant King. Back then, there was a possibly with Lois and all. But now, he wasn’t sure.

_“Oh yeah, about that? The Guardians also told me that whatever life-altering decisions we made or make, will also alter the universe. It’s complicated, I know.”_

_“So with Superman all lovey-dovey with Batman now, please tell me there’ll be no psychotic alien running amok anytime soon,”_ Oliver chimed, teasing both the Bat and the man.

A squeal erupted, surely that wasn’t Diana, and yet Bruce refused to know who. _“I was right! I knew you guys are together—“_

Now was not the time, Bruce groaned.

_“—maybe yes, maybe no,”_ Hal replied with a cheeky snort. _“There’s still that possibility B-man is now taking that role as our beautiful Miss Damsel in Distress. Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”_

Bruce stopped listening when he finally reached the area where the explosion began. Looking back at the hollowed route he took, calculating the distance and the assumed floor of the building, and the blackened evidence of broken rooms along the hallway, the scratched walls and their hideous rows of shattered decorations, charred cushions from padded rooms – he was standing in what was left of Joker’s cell. He searched for clues, any remains and found none. Joker’s corpse might have been reduced to pieces in the blast, but there should be hints that he was present during the explosion. Something was definitely not right.

_“—and again, you were right, Batman. The site here in Scotland still draws off electricity,”_ Victor buzzed. _“I’ve scanned the area and analyzed the amount of volts discharged – supposedly, over a million volts could harm living organisms but surprisingly, it has little to no effect on humans. This place becomes a tourist attraction overnight.”_

_“And the witnesses here are saying that they saw **Gods** visiting them, and I quote, ‘they came out of the light, faceless and mighty’, and the cylinders were their gifts from years of worship and loyalty,”_ Oliver provided. _“Light and electricity anybody? Just what are we up against here?”_

Then it clicked, the strange patterns he had deduced seemed like a journey, what better way to cross to a different dimension was through—

“Portals,” Bruce said.

_“I don’t like the sound of that,”_ Billy mumbled.

But these _Gods_ – they were like them, perhaps, meta-humans. The cylinders were man-made machines, capable of storing dangerous and decaying thermonuclear explosives, and were strategically placed. And Arkham’s destruction, was a warning, and the would-be end result. A pattern, completed. Whoever these Gods were, they were devising to destroy this planet, the Earth of this universe.

_“—whoa! Fuck!”_

Hal yelled suddenly, his comm link whirred and hissed. Bruce stopped on his tracks, listening as Barry’s voice overwhelmed the noises that rang through, worried like the others, repeating Hal’s name over and over again. Amidst their fear for Hal’s safety – there was an inhuman, groaning sound blaring loudly through Lantern’s comm before it settled to a quiet stop.

Disconnected.

“ _Hal_!” Barry shouted. “ _Shit_!”

Could that be what they thought the anomaly in gravity? Bruce gritted his teeth, rerouting to safety as he ordered the others to scurry back to regroup in Metropolis to warn Waller, save Clark and Atom and the entire populace, and stop the cylinders from detonating. He would go to the tower, and find Hal – only if the Lantern’s power ring was fully charged as told, and protected him from the space’s vacuum. Bruce ignored Diana’s incessant calls, but as he ran, Alfred’s voice interrupted him.

_“I am sorry for listening in, Master Bruce_ ,” said the Butler. _“But I’ve managed to track down Green Lantern’s location. He is drifting by the Watchtower, sir, immobile. And the station’s sensors also caught on a number of massive energy readings, and deformities in space’s gravity, orbiting Mars. I believe they are black holes, sir. It’s dangerous to—“_

By the time Bruce dropped outside the zone, he found Jason still waiting for him – by his motorbike and was fiddling with his handgun, in an effort to keep his hands busy. Though it was extremely rare for the former Robin to stand calm, and he did seem a bit restless when he spotted Bruce. The metallic glaze of his red hood mask was kept on, boots crunching on dry soil as he peeked at the carnage briefly with a whistle.

“Just so you know, for once, I’ve got nothing to do with this. My hands are squeaky clean,” he wiggled his fingers, giving Bruce Barbara’s frequency to her secure comm link. Bruce advised her once, to frequently change her contact frequencies, as a contingency plan to protect her identity, after he distanced himself from her and Jason. It proved to be useful, they were safe. And this alliance would dissipate soon, and Bruce would once again estrange himself from them.

As he connected his comm to Barbara’s, he then asked, “How long do you think you can get to Metropolis?”

Jason clicked his tongue, “An hour, maybe? Or less. I’m sure _this_ is all over the news by now.”

Once settled, and Barbara had greeted him, followed by the occasional clacking of board keys – he knew she was already searching for what he wanted. Waller’s videos, and the abrupt change in space. Bruce quickly scanned for the Enterprises’ main office, for the teleport platform to the tower, and readied his grapple gun, “Take the Batwing and go to Metropolis’ central STAR Labs, I want you to assist the Justice League—“

“And where the hell do you think you’re—no. You’re going to the Watchtower, aren’t you?” he snapped. Seemed like he overheard Alfred’s warning.

“Green Lantern is in danger—“

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?! You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? The mission is always your first priority, you don’t really care much about saving Green Lantern when you’re given a choice. I thought you changed… Don’t you ever listen to what Alfred has warned you? Deformities! In space! Black holes!” Jason spat, snatching the grapple gun from Bruce’s hand. “We’re fucking humans, and you know what black holes and space do to us. You have a squadron of meta-humans, and you’re gonna be a hero and risk your life again? You know what? Fuck you, Bruce. You’re sending everyone to a nuclear fiasco while you sit on a front row seat of a supermassive space cunt! You’ll die, Bruce, and I’ve been there, and I know you can’t handle it. You can never go back. Don’t you understand how many people are worried about you? Of course, you don’t.”

_I do understand. I lost control of my emotions, I let my mind wander and this is what happened. I allowed this._

And even so, the League could control the explosives better than he, Bruce would only get in the way, and it was plausible for him to try to solve these problems. “Jason, I trust that you can disarm the explosives. I trust you on ground.”

Jason shook his head, _trust_ hit home, and bitterly did he chuckle, “All right. Fine, I get that you’re one stubborn son of a bitch,” – he tossed the grapple gun back – “But I’ll tell you something, Bruce. If only you could have said that you trusted me years ago, then maybe… right now? I would have believed you, I would have believed in everything you do.”

-

In central Metropolis’ STAR containment facility—

He seated himself on the glass flooring, his head hung low with his back leaning against one corner of his cell. His muscles were exhausted, aching. He tried relentlessly to calm the bubbling panic inside him like how Bruce taught him (it was one of his weaknesses, after all), that was the least he could do to sustain his energy and buy some more time for his friends. When the poisonous green fumes began to subside, he coughed a little and inhaled the fresh breeze of new air. The pain ceased, he could breathe again. But these people, no matter how much they stared amazedly at him, they would never take any chances to his unpredictable pain tolerance. Two of their engineers assembled red sun panels on each four sides, hoping to keep him vulnerable. It was useless, red sun had little effect on him now, but he was willing to play along.

_“—are you sure about this, Bruce?” he asked, he was perched against the operating table, shirtless as he eyed warily at the thick lining of red sun metal laths fused to the walls of the room. It would feel like being trapped in an oven or a microwave. Crossing his arms, he turned to his lover who was preparing the table. “Wouldn’t this make me, you know, indestructible?”_

_“I am a man of contingency, Clark, you know me. Even for a supposedly indestructible being, such as yourself, three of your greatest weaknesses are just that obvious to the whole wide world,” Bruce teased, patting at the hard cushion for the superhuman to sit down and lie back._

_Clark complied, he couldn’t argue with that. When the laths were switched on, humming as the coils colored hot red, he grunted at his back muscle’s quick discomfort. “Yeah, Kryptonite. Magic, and I’m prone to mind-controlling enthusiasts.”_

_“Mmhmm, and it’s been recently discovered that red sun will not only take away your powers, but it will also make you completely vulnerable. Power levels down to zero percent, it’s a lot worse than your super-flare side-effects. And we’re here to avoid that. Imagine if any of our adversaries gets a hold of this knowledge, and plans to kill you with it…” Bruce paused, immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, then cleared his throat as Clark called his name, and sat up. “E-Either way, this will be your morning exercise from today onwards—“_

_Tugging gently on Bruce’s forearm when he tried to walk away, Clark caught him between his legs and pulled him close. The events prior to the battle with Doomsday, were unforgivable and upsetting to Bruce, still. Formulating plans to counter-measure Clark’s known weaknesses were his way to cope with his ‘sins’, even though the superhuman never blamed him._

_“That night when you pulled me out of Apokolips? I saw and felt things that I shouldn’t. Those feelings were too cold, and empty. It was my life, what it would be, without you. Making me indestructible, Bruce, lessens down my need for mortality. It will take me so, so many years to grow old, and I can’t chase you in death. And I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone again, you’re not giving me any choices—”_

_“Shh, shh,” Bruce cut him off, wrapping his arms around him and kissed his forehead. “I’m giving us both a choice. There’s a weapon, it’s called a power disruptor. If I were to use it to you only because my plans didn’t work, then we have a chance to live together… As normally as we could.”_

_What if it didn’t happen?_

Bruce.

His lover’s dreams had worsened – _wakeupwakeupwakeup_ – he knew he was dreaming. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about it, he couldn’t protect him.

Clark closed his eyes then, softening the noises of soldiers, scientists and workers around him, to Bruce’s safe, beating heart and listen in to the League’s deduction to this predicament. There was indeed something amiss, and the Guardians’ never lie. The _Superman_ in those videos, let himself be seen – where his House of El’s skinsuit was covered with perhaps a robotic, liquid metal armor; tougher, more fury in his stance, in his movements, merciless – was him from another universe. Waller didn’t seem to notice the difference, she didn’t care most likely. The only question he had, about this sudden invasion from another dimension, was why?

But when a persistent, beeping sound interrupted his thoughts, Clark’s eyes opened – alert as he raised his head to the four cylinders set before him. The engineers attending them were stunned, panicking slightly, and out of nowhere, the alarm barked red. The cylinders – machines, now – were rebuilding themselves, continually for every five seconds without taking any permanent shapes, as if protecting their crimson cores. Clark stood, his shoulders hunched forward as his eyes fixed to the machines, and noticed Atom following suit at the corner of his eye.

“I fought you, Superman. But judging from how clueless you look right now, I don’t know if it’s an act or not, I’m guessing it wasn’t you,” Atom muttered, placing his hands on the glass wall. He frowned. “It’s releasing heat energy.”

“We need to stop them from exploding.”

Clark was thankful for Atom’s cooperation, but the man was still suspicious of him. Before he could say any further, Waller’s footsteps pounded as she cascaded into the enclosed arena of the laboratory. She roared, “What happened?”

As on scientist rushed to explain to her, Clark snapped his attention to a low, monstrous growl that he caught – high above, in space. Tuning in to the League’s comm links, Hal’s was just disconnected, and his darling was distressed. Be careful, Bruce. And the machines suddenly clustered on each other, constructing into an alarming, deadly instrument.

~*~

Bruce surfaced alone on the deck of the Watchtower, he hurried to the monitor and sought to locate Hal’s current position through the tower’s sensors. If the tower could locate the League’s marooned comrade, then he must be drifting close. But there were no traces of the Green Lantern, and the anomalies had shrunken simultaneously. He found nothing, and Hal’s comm remained disconnected.

Missing.

_You allowed this, Bruce. You killed Hal._

“…No.”

_“—I hacked Waller’s email, Bruce, there’s something I need you to see,”_ Barbara’s voice trembled through the static, sending Waller’s confidential files into the tower’s monitor – revealing hordes of kept secrets; pictures and videos before, during and after the Arkham explosion, blinding bursts and flashes of portals, and one security footage.

One that shocked Bruce the most, was the _Superman_ floating above the asylum – his red cape danced along the wind, donning what seemed to be a cybernetic, exoskeleton armor, battle-worn and weary – as he stared down at Atom, who crouched helplessly in pain. With a flash of light did he depart, like a God, and the asylum exploded a second later. He replayed and paused at the close capture of his lover’s double. What he felt, as of this moment, was fear.

_“I’m pretty sure that’s not the Superman we both know.”_

He grunted in agreement, she simply didn’t need to know more, she was already aware of the two men’s alibis. Bruce observed the strange mechanical suit of this authoritative double, why would he wear this shield if his skin was like steel? “This armor, what can you tell me about it?”

_“The steel components are mostly consisted of ninth metal, amazonium and promethium. It’s designed to ‘protect’ its user from any known weaknesses. He’s—indestructible, Bruce,”_ Barbara sighed, worried. But he winced at the word. _“…There’s more.”_

Bruce clicked on the security footage next, a fifty-six seconds compilation. He curiously frowned at the familiar hallway, where the camera lingered at the hideously decorated; rosewood waiting chairs and side-tables, fleur de lys wallpaper, and plastic sunflowers in colorful vases. But when the video shifted to the inside of Joker’s cell, Bruce widened his eyes, appalled. The clown was indeed present and still bound to his chair and jacket before the explosion, and the cylinder was indeed inside his room – reconstructed into what seemed to be a disastrous modifications of a turbine engine – and he was not alone. A mysterious, cloaked figure was looming over the Joker, too tall to be human and was communicating with him. But its visit was short-lived when the engine’s wheel rotated too fast and exploded. Ending the footage with loud discoveries.

Joker could still be alive somewhere. And in his mind, they were only speculations. But—the cylinder must have been the last bomb, more toxic and damaging. Either Superman or the cloaked figure, must have set them inside Joker’s cell right after Bruce’s ‘visit’. They let themselves be seen by Waller, especially, to frame Clark and Atom due to her dire crusade against meta-humans. And in Bruce’s dreams, Superman – if this was the same one – lost _his_ Bruce, killed the Joker and—

“—made a time machine,” Bruce mumbled, the strange pattern matched. Stepping back from the monitor where it repeated the explosion again and again, he thought to head down to Earth where he could get a relative safety.

But—

_“Bruce, the energy readings are spiking again—w-what the? T-These are black holes, but that’s impossible! The sun is—“_ Barbara’s voice splintered when the tower’s sensors hindered her signal, detecting a rapid shift in space’s gravity again. Bruce heard the station groaning, and felt the heavy pressure seeping into the security of the League’s base. _“—it’s heading fast—Watchtower! Bruce, you have to—“_

Bruce was thrown off the deck, just as he lost contact with Barbara, and down to the operations pit when the tower quaked and collided with an unknown gargantuan force.

He managed to snag on his grappling gun, and hauled himself back onto the bridge, heading towards the teleport platform. The emergency alarm shrieked loudly when the tower’s primary generator was obstructed and automatically switched to its secondary power supply. As he raced to escape – in the blink of an eye – did he stumble into a dark corridor, and fell flat to the cold, hard floor. Bruce groaned and moved to stand, grimacing at the terrible ache he felt at the back of his head, and blanched when he realized that he was no longer inside the Watchtower. He couldn’t recognize this hell. His Batsuit was replaced with a dress shirt that was glued to his skin by a fluid smelled like blood and a loose slack, barefooted. Two ends of the corridor seemed too far from where he stood, swallowed by darkness, illuminated by the occasionally, fluttering red lights along the narrow pathway. Losing his balance, he staggered to the side. His hands traced on the harsh, concrete wall and tentatively walked forward.

Where was he? Was this another dream? Was he still sleeping? Was any of them real?

With a shaky breath, Bruce continued to walk – adamant to break away from the clutched of this nightmare.

Why him, why? He didn’t ask for any of this. He had enough.

He walked.

And walked.

And walked.

The corridor was endless, stretching to a thousand miles farther every time he made a step. He had forced his feet to move for _hours_ as exhaustion finally took its toll on him. The pathway blurred then spiraled. He stopped, sliding down to the floor. The soles of his feet were hurting, and the booming headache made him lose his courage. Scared, he was scared. Trapped in a place he didn’t know, alone and defeated. Curled against the wall, Bruce stared at one red light above his head, watched it flickered on and off as voices clashed, echoed repeatedly, fresh and loud in his memories—

_oursisconvergingwithanotheranditshouldn’thavesomethinghasdisruptedthebalanceofthetwowe’renotgonnawaitforthatandleavesupesyou’lldiebruceandi’vebeenthereandiknowyoucan’thandleitiwouldhavebelievedyouiwouldhavebelievedineverythingyoudoyouhavetofightityouhavetoopenyoureyesiwishanewlullabysincethenighticamebacktohavemetyousoonersoicouldloveyoulongeryou’remyworldbruceiloveyouiknowit’sawarningdreamsarethegreatestmonsterstheycanbepersuasiveicanhearhisheartbeatwhichiswhyiwantyoutohelpmegethimbackthere’snothingascruelasmemoryespeciallyifyou’rewalkin’downsomeoneelse’slaneyoureallydon’tknowdoyoubatsy_

—Bruce didn’t _know_ what to do, he couldn’t be saved here. He was reliving a distant and painful, nightmarish memory of him from a different universe. The same person; appeared, mentioned and greatly loved in his dreams, who suffered and surrendered through this misery, traumatized by this dark, dark episode. They called this disease, Nyctophobia, an extreme fear of the night and darkness. The fright slithered up to him, laughing in his ear.

He curled to himself tighter when he heard shuffling sounds behind him, and flinched and cried as the tumbling and sobbing noises grew louder. Footsteps brushing against slippery ground, Bruce dared to look over his shoulder and—

…and found an exact replica of himself.

Bruce stared petrified, as the replica limped and passed him; mimicking his previous actions where he had his hands tracing the wall, hesitant steps through the darkness, a wounded head and a broken leg. He swallowed thickly when his left leg went stiff, straightening it to let the blood circulate, and then he screamed. Clutching at his thigh, it felt like his leg was snapped in two. Followed by his ribs, Bruce vomited blood. He wheezed, no, no, he didn’t want this. But when he tried to tolerate the pain, like how he used to do, a low, haunting voice shunned him. His mind told him to run, crawl away. But he couldn’t.

And so he whimpered.   

_“Batsyyyy, where are you going?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The episode that we've all been waiting for, (you guys know what it is <3), will be on the next chapter. I'm so sorry about this :/


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life hasn't been treating me good lately, and I apologize for this very late update. I'm terribly sorry for the confusion in the last chapter, I blame myself for it. I hope this chapter answers whatever questions you have. And I know many of you guys have been waiting for this update particularly, for weeks. And as promised, here it is. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Enjoy

Jason seated himself in the Batwing’s cockpit, igniting the engine and allowed Alfred (who was an incredible godsend) to pilot the aircraft via drone mode straight to Metropolis, as he tinkered (slightly) with the controls’ manual navigation system. When interrogated by the aged Butler – on behalf of any money spent, and that the costly Batwing would take several and time-consuming, precious days to care for, repair and reprogram – he simply stated, _insurance, Alfred, safety precautions for our darling Bat._ After Jason’s bizarre and piercing resurrection by none other than Talia al-Ghul; his years of globe-trotting and rigorous training before returning to Gotham and shock the living hell out of Bruce, and his eventual reformation with the family, earned him the title as the unpredictable anti-hero. Jason would always try to smart and skirt his way through in pacifying the down-trodden city from her bête noir all by himself and by his methods, alone. And that included, slipping a hidden tracking device in the old Bat’s utility belt. Accusations after funerals and regrets, Bruce did agree with him at some point. His killing-methods, most likely. He looked almost beastly. Hence, Bruce suffered his ultimate downfall. He was battered, burned and torn down by guilt, grief and hatred. Because of Dick’s sacrifice, Barbara’s disability and the absence of willing Robins to give purpose to Bruce’s life after Damian’s death. In a nutshell, the family was dying.

Bruce eventually amended himself years later, as soon as the Kryptonian popped into the family picture, oh so suddenly with ‘I love you’ banners, flowers and colorful confetti. It was for the best, probably. And surprisingly, Jason was happy for them. But—

“—prove me wrong, Bruce,” he muttered under his breath, tapping on the codes of Bruce’s tracking device.

Fixing a watchful eye on the monitor, two minutes later, which showed him a thorough map of Bruce’s current location – marked with a steadily blinking, blue dot on the grid – Bruce was seemingly on his merry way to one of the Wayne buildings in the city. As far as he was told by Barbara, there was a teleport pad built in the Enterprises’ main office. Jason cursed, slamming a hand on the screen before he slouched down on his seat. Stubborn, stubborn old man. The mission was always Bruce’s fucking top priority. Even back when the man was so vibrant with life, and fatherly, until now, he never changed. Even after Dick and Damian, after so many losses. Bruce would never change. He had loads of expectations, and desired for merits. How did Jason, of all people, know? Well, it was plain simple that he was Bruce’s first failure, the catalyst of the many failures that followed. The hollow scar in the man’s history.

That was one of the reasons why he was so dead-bent on punching some god-awful senses into Bruce – the world had enough of his careless mistakes, there was no benefit in being good anymore. It was time to surrender the mantle. And with no heir to assume Bruce’s role in Gotham, it was only logical that Jason would assume the Dark Knight’s throne.

—But when the dot disappeared within the Enterprises’ compound, which meant the signal was lost and possibly out of range – Jason groaned, and leaned his head on the headrest. The revving of the Batwing’s engine faded, everything was deadly quiet, with the exception of his panicked breaths. And his too loud heartbeats. He wouldn’t want to tempt fate, he never believed in one but fuck it. He _prayed_ , begging from the deepest honesty of his heart, that neither fate nor death would take Bruce away from him. From everyone. He didn’t know why he thought of that now, but the mortifying feeling was exceptionally stronger tonight. Jason could go there and drag Bruce’s ass back to Earth, save everyone the trouble, but he would need a working transmitter to access the League’s satellite. And he figured none of the members would let him borrow theirs.

 _“He is, as of now, maintaining a stable communication channel with Miss Barbara from the Watchtower, sir. If that will cure you from your worry, that is,”_ Alfred piped in.

Jason grumbled, taking off his mask with a huff and ran a hand through his short hair. “I don’t understand how you can still be so calm about this, Alfred. You did say something about black holes, and unknown energy spikes. From what I learned in school, black holes aren’t supposed to appear in another millions of years. And they spelled dangerous, Alfred. D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S.”

 _“You are right, sir. But oddly enough, they vanished as quickly as they came by the second Master Bruce boarded the teleportation pad. The time intervals of these deformities are at random, no patterns to conclude whether these occurrences are common or the after-effects of multi-dimensional travels,”_ the old Butler gathered, followed by an exhausted sigh and a soft clack of a glass. Alfred was drinking again, a sign that he was definitely losing his mind for Bruce’s safety. Jason couldn’t help but feel sympathetic of him, sharing his woes and worries together. _“And I have spent half a stressful century trying to convince him to be reasonable in his actions. I have failed so many times, and thus I am beyond calm… To be honest with you, sir, Master Bruce has been extremely troubled these last few days.”_

“He’s still dreaming, isn’t he?” Jason swallowed the lump in his throat, biting his lower lip, remembering his own share of repeated dreams – of Bruce with a huge, gaping hole in his stomach.

 _“Yes,”_ Alfred admitted. “ _According to Mrs. Kent, he had a painful episode just two hours ago.”_

Jason blinked his eyes tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose at the news. Fuck. The mind was receptive during sleep, a dangerous place, and a powerful conduit for strange dreams like these. Dreams, were similar to psychoactive drugs – they elevated moods and consciousness, or diminished them entirely. They were persuasive, they could easily turn one’s bravery into fear. Thus, in Bruce’s case, no one could save him there.

_“Also, before I forget. You are greatly misunderstood, Master Jason.”_

He was reaching Metropolis soon when he raised his head to look through the aircraft’s bullet-proof windshield, gliding over Hob’s River and past Stryker’s Island. He answered quietly, “About what?”

There was a short, hesitant pause. Jason frowned, slipping his mask back on and wondered if he had lost contact with Alfred, but no. _“Gone the morning the heir of the House of Wayne was born, I was given the complete authority to fulfill all the young master’s wishes. To make sure he had the most excellent childhood, which a father and a mother would have wanted for their only child. He was a bundle of joy, bright and lively. He was just a boy. But came the unfortunate night I found him alone at the police station, with his mother’s pearls in his hands.”_ Jason winced at Alfred’s somber, confiding voice, and closed his eyes. He recalled his own childhood memories, and they were very brutal. His biological mother betrayed him; his adoptive mother was an addict and died on him, and his father was a walking calamity ever since he left him to live on the streets alone. Was his childhood more upsetting than Bruce’s? No, he didn’t think so. To begin with, he was born into this life of irresponsible parents, he didn’t love them nor cry for them when they died. He was introduced to a whole new level of parental affection with Bruce, he had a second chance, even though that soon changed. Bruce adopted him, saw the good in him and—and _trusted_ him.

_“I raised him like a son I never had. Along the years, I watched him grow. I watched him change, from bad to worse, to good. I learned to read his withdrawn ways, to cope after tragedies he wished he had not risked. No matter how emotionally stunted and paranoid your father has become, he is indeed searching for the Green Lantern. His family, his friends, are very dear to him. It is a weakness, and he can never show it. If he loses control, he will lose the person he cares about all over again.”_

-

By the time Jason arrived and maneuvered the Batwing, with Alfred patiently guiding him through in his ear before taking control of the aircraft once again – hoisted himself up and out, and nimbly landed on the cobblestone drive of the research facility – the League, and a handful of other known meta-humans, had begun clearing and controlling the arising panic in central Metropolis. This was what heroes were supposed to do, risking their lives to save millions. It wasn’t for him, unfortunately, he was much of a skeptic bastard and he would feel incredibly anxious. But whatever hatred he had bored and spilled at Bruce earlier had left him feeling guilty, thanks to Alfred. He wanted to say I’m sorry, it was at the tip of his tongue. He understood now, the reason why Bruce sent him here was because of his extensive knowledge in explosive devices, and with the fact that his life was greatly enhanced with Lazarus abilities, he was able to regenerate quickly and cheat death several times, he was a better candidate. That was one of Bruce’s ways to take advantage of someone, or maybe, Bruce was trying to prove a point that he agreed with Jason, that he couldn’t do everything by himself and he needed help. And this, going to Metropolis and practically save people’s homes, was a means to calm himself. To make him feel like a better son. It worked, if he put his imaginative mind into it.

Barry’s flashes of red and yellow appeared and disappeared, assisting Diana in vacating ten miles, two out of four parts of the city, surrounding STAR. Jason glanced at the open, abandoned entrance and up at the news helicopter hovering above – daredevil Daily Planet, most likely – no doubt reporting this catastrophe to the outside world. He spun and bolted into the building when the Batwing left. Finding his way easily through the maze, heading towards the arena where the explosives were kept. Alfred noted in detail for him, of the cylinders’ puzzling construction – its awkward mechanical parts and arrangements, sleek, otherworldly invention. Like they were sent from the future.

Amidst the red and roaring alarms, Jason paused at the massive, reconstructing machine at the center of the arena. Discharging electricity and sweltering heat, he figures the machine was supposed to be the four cylinders. Noting the glitters and dusts of broken glass on the ground and destroyed, familiar-looking panels, he spotted a crowd – high-powered weapons were aimed reluctantly by frightened soldiers at the few League members who stayed behind and stood in fury, listening to Amanda Waller’s reconciliation with Clark. Even the superhuman doubted all the promises she had babbled to him. But for the sake of Metropolis and at the thought that Waller was present, she could also be considered guilty if she were to accuse the League of failing to disable the nuclear bombs, Clark was forced to accept her sorry. He quickly asked Arthur (the most able and vicious fighter in the League), Oliver and Billy to follow Waller and her men (in case she suddenly changed her mind) as they made their escape.

Victor then marched to scan the machine, pulling a cord from the back of his bionic head and plugged them to one exposed port, whilst Atom narrowed his eyes at the growing fission, absorbing the heat to make the temperature a lot more tolerable. Clark then turned his attention to Jason, as if he just noticed him. But he looked at him like he just grew an ugly, extra head.

“Where’s Batman?”

-

Dread flooded him the very moment he saw Jason striding towards him in Bruce’s place. He quickly knew, his plan was a grave mistake. He never should have left Bruce on his own. People he knew, the superheroes, the humans, might call him selfish but when his entire world – his hanging sanity – anchored solely on Bruce’s safety, you couldn’t really blame him. Clark tuned in to catch the stutters of Bruce’s heartbeats; the sound of his breaths and footsteps, and the growl in his voice past the noises, whispers and hums among the stars. But he heard nothing. No sign of him. Missing. Quiet. Where was he? Bruce was supposed to be here, safe with him.

“Where’s Batman?” he questioned, a little too angry and a touch of fear.

Jason waved an indignant hand and jogged past him to the whirring machine, “Hello to you too, Superman. I see you’re doing really great, considering how wrecked those red sun panels were. I’m guessing your morning exercises really pulled off, huh? I’ll be your exclusive bomb expert today, unfortunately. The old man gave me the duty to assist you in disarming those—but please tell me that’s not the nuclear bang-bang?” – he tilted his head at the machine in front of him, then snapped his fingers, mocking a glee – “Oh! It is! So, how about we sort out this mess first then worry about the Bat later. Hmm?”

“Jason,” Clark pleaded, grabbing Jason’s elbow. “Please, tell me where Bruce is. I can hear every heartbeat on this planet but I can’t hear Bruce’s.”

When the young Red Hood yanked his arm away and swiveled to him, his stance was slightly offbeat before he straightened and snarled, exasperated. “He’s at the Watchtower. Alfred and I persuaded, he didn’t listen. He’s gone ahead, trying to rescue your Green Lantern. Forgive me for saying this, I doubt your guy’s still alive. But dangerous things are gonna happen up there, and if I don’t finish this up soon, I— _we_ , will lose Bruce, okay? It’s just this stupid feeling and don’t ask me anymore about it. So, fucking help me out here.”

Clark thought about storming off to the League’s base, if Bruce was really there – and therefore remove him from unknown danger – when Victor called out to them as he finally managed to freeze the machine from reconstructing itself, halting its stored nuclear energy from decaying any further. It settled into a rotary-engine; a dark red glow as its menacing eye, four armored capsules (which he reckoned were first hoarded into and guarded by the cylinders) as its unmoving turbines, the machine’s body vibrating with electricity and its metal scorching hot.

“Guys, we’re running out of time. I’m not sure how long I can keep this machine from changing again, it keeps fighting me. These four canisters” – Victor pointed at the rod turbines – “are plated with ninth metal, they are fueled by magic. There are no fuses so the body must have powered them, there are low neutralizing agents, and the chemicals are too crowded and unstable. We can deactivate at least two canisters if we’re fast enough to break through the ninth metal, but the other two—“

“So we need a preventative measure if they explode, right? All I can think about is gamma shields. Just lead basically,” Jason said hastily. “Or any other shields to trap nuclear radiations like alpha and beta rays, considering we don’t know their dose levels. Is this arena radioactive-proof? Anti-magic, maybe?”

He peeked up at the dome-shaped ceiling, and grimaced. That answered everything, they were made of steel. Not the best kind of metal alloy and security if this facility was made to imprison meta-humans.

“But they do have an underground shelter,” Clark replied, using his enhanced vision to sweep past the facility’s ground, two laboratory tiers and a parking garage, and located a 4-meters deep vault beneath their feet. Solid, lead-lined walls. “It’s right below us.”

“Ooh, sweet. But now, we have the ‘magic’ problem to think about. Why use magic?”

Atom investigated the machine critically, “This magic is _furious_ , uncontrollable. It’s not the traditional brew of incantations either. With energy so hateful like this, mixed with an unstable nuclear element, we can only imagine how devastating this city will be in the end.”

“I’ve calculated that the blast radius for two canisters, if we leave them here, is still going to affect half of Metropolis,” Victor informed them, then projected an interactive hologram of the machine’s layout from his cyborg eye. “This arena is too exposed to the atmosphere, but if we bring this machine down to the vault, we can reduce the blast radius to within this facility only. One problem is that these canisters are volatile, they will explode with speed. We have to disassemble the turbines from its body to shut them down; split them in two, hack into the ninth metal, remove and dispose the magic fuels, and disarm one canister each.”

“Out of us four, I think it’s best that I’ll take the fuels with me. I mean, look at me,” Jason motioned to himself. “My exoskeleton is made out of meat and blood.”

Victor agreed, notifying Barry through their comm links. “If or when the two canisters explode, Flash will help you escape from here.”

“I can take the two active canisters out to space—“

“—and you’ll kill yourself. I know what my powers can do,” Atom countered, then turned to both Jason and Victor. “I’ll absorb the other two once they detonate.”

“Atom—“

“It’s the only way,” he argued. “For me to compensate all the mistakes I’ve made at Arkham.”

Clark pursed his lips, but eventually nodded his head in defeat just as Jason and Victor went about to deconstruct the machine immediately and carefully. The pressure was great with so little time to spare. The destruction at the asylum was no one’s fault, he too felt guilty, but he blamed the person – the alien, oh the irony – who copied his face. The Dilustel-armored captain was silent when he resumed his task to counterbalance the heating temperature, to add a few seconds to the four ticking bombs. Clark apologized to him for everything that had happened and promised to justify the man’s innocence to Waller once this was over. He then studied the concrete ground, and planned a safe, passable route down to the vault. Pummeling through the stone, the metal and the earth, he had created a wide enough entry for the canisters to be closed in. The machine’s canister-turbines were dismantled from its body, divided delicately in two ‘V’s’ for easier approach when disarming them.

The vault was secured and wadded in thick lead, perfect and proper shielding as he and Atom gently lifted the two twin-turbines into the vault. It took Victor awhile to steal his way around the canisters’ solid ninth metal and unfamiliar arrangements of explosive, radioactive parts, but when he did, Jason instantly removed the lethal magic fuels – bubbling violently in metal flasks – and handed them to Atom, who in turn, placed them in a haversack Clark found upstairs. It was when Victor had successfully disarmed and separated one bomb of the first twin that the remaining three, active canisters clicked, interrupting their focus. They were steps too late. The canisters broke apart with hot hisses, rebuilding themselves yet again, switching and reconstructing their ninth armored-plates like a puzzle—

Clark bolted for Jason and the haversack, swooping them up to the arena just in the nick of time for Barry, who torpedoed into the facility, to snatch Jason (haversack slung on one shoulder) and made their escape. He caught on the ground’s frenzied rumbles, the furious grates of ninth metal changing its shape, sizzling energy burning his skin, all three ready to erupt – and in a flash did he flew back to the vault, blocking Victor from the line of fire.

“Look out!”

He shielded the cyborg from the violent, ear-deafening bursts and shatters of nuclear and fire; projectiles of metal debris, the hurting, excessive pressure that shoved them against one lead wall. Abruptly did the pressure stopped, revealing Atom who managed to gain control over the force and repelled the massive wave of combustion from them. He enclosed the blast, bending them under his command, in a blinding, groaning sphere of aquamarine, laced with orange-red fire and smoke. But as he was prepared to absorb and draw the three canisters empty, the dud bomb – the fourth, the one Victor had successfully deactivated – too reconstructed and exploded. Caught off guard, the force began to fight his control and slipping from his grip, as Atom immediately swirled the new mass of energy, greater than the other three, to cluster together and seep into the sphere. He gave out a jarring scream, when tendrils of orange-red devoured his arms, contrasting the silver of his metallic shell – up his body, his head. His eyes.  

With a blink, everything went black.

-

Echoing sirens at a distance, news and rescue helicopters looming above the dawning sky.

STAR was destroyed, in ruins, reduced to broken pieces of stones, ashes and heather clouds.

Jason ran, the flasks rattling too loud inside the haversack amidst their muted failure, to where he assumed was the arena. Alfred told him that Atom had succeeded, but it shouldn’t end like this. Deathly chill crept up his spine, yes, that irritating – mortifying – feeling was definitely stronger now. He stooped down the crater and scanned the funereal wreckage, spotting the machine’s body lying wasted between rubbles and fragments of damaged ninth metal. Barry had already begun removing piles of debris that trapped an unconscious Victor, when Clark’s hand shot up the earth and dug himself out, like the immortal everyone knew he was. Covered in dirt, he coughed and took a few deep breaths, the rising sun’s warmth instantly healed his marred skin despite the grief that wrote itself across the superhuman’s face. And that could only mean one thing.

Atom was killed. No remains. One hero lost, millions were saved.

When he thought the worst had past, Barbara’s voice crinkled and rang in his comm link.

_“—Jason!”_

“Barb? Hey, what’s wrong?” he huffed, wide alert when he recognized the stress and the fear in her voice. At the corner of his eye, Clark was frowning at him, no doubt listening attentively to Barbara’s cry.

_“I-It’s Bruce, something’s happened at the Watchtower! I can’t connect with him!”_

Jason froze.

No.

Please, no.

Before he could do anything – call Alfred, find the nearest teleport pad, something! – Clark had plunged off to space, leaving sonic booms in his trail and splinters of dusts behind. Where the morning shades of pink, orange and blue colored the sky, there was a dark stain where the tower floated by – inhuman growling greeted his ears, monstrous and eerie, roaring and moaning high above. He trembled at the noise that silenced all, what was that?

“—that’s the same noise, to the ones we’ve heard before Hal disappeared,” Barry told him, his head lowered and void of cheer. Jason noted how red and sullen the Flash’s face had looked, the man was keeping his fury in check as he inspected the damage Victor had sustained on his chest.

And Jason, staring up at the sky, stood there helpless.

~*~

This ordeal, taught Bruce a thing or two about the mysteries of dreaming and the vulnerability of his own subconscious. Scientifically, there were two stages of false awakening. The first, was called the pre-lucid stage, in which he had suffered not too long ago. His definition of a good morning – was to wake up dreamless at the farm, on Clark’s childhood bed and in peace. He believed all the vivid and realistic images; the smell of instant coffee in his mug, the caramel in his pancakes, the cozy farmhouse, the buzzes of the news channel and the sizzling pan. But when his dream fractured – he didn’t know why – he caught glimpses of haunting, shadowy figures. He panicked. It was distressing, at most, when Bruce found himself confused and cornered, in a strange, hellish nightmare he couldn’t control. And this place, was a part of the other Bruce’s memories. Narrow corridor, dark and abandoned, it was a manifestation of his replica’s fear. He or it was trying to show him something, an answer and a way out, a warning.

It crossed him, then. _Ours is converging with another_. Converging, colliding.

Dreaming about the farm was his first clue, the first indication of this collision – in reality he was asleep, he knew he was, but his consciousness was elsewhere. Namely the universe his world was colliding with. This memory and all the obscured dreams he had seen and gone through, were the aftereffects. Why him? And what about the second stage of false awakening? Either way, he could only imagine how disastrous and traumatic it would do to him.

“Batsyyyy, where are you going, darlin’?”

“N-No, please…! No more! I beg of you—“

“Shh, _loosen up_ , my little bat. You’ve been very, very naughty! And you know what I do to my naughty baby bats!”

He swallowed, and flinched when the Joker strutted past him. Bare-chested, tattooed pale skin glistened with sweat. Bruce’s back was glued to the slithery, grime crusted wall – as if it was caging him, providing him an unlikely comfort. He then heard the slow, ominous tootles of a Boogeyman’s lullaby coming from the green-haired clown as he booted the replica’s broken leg. Like a Boogeyman, he lurked and grew nearer. Like a predator, he took delight at his prey’s tears and cries when he fell down to his demise. Joker hauled and spread the replica’s legs, tearing the man’s slacks, ignoring his victim’s struggles to escape. Arms pinned together at bruised wrists, Joker tutted him, and Bruce snapped his head away when the replica’s face was shoved against the dirty floor, hips raised and—

A scream.

Fearing that he was spotted, Bruce brought his knees close to his chest – broken or not – begging whatever insulting miracles left for him, to make himself look smaller. To show him mercy from this torture. To wake him up. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, hands to his ears, blocking off the cries. His body was quaking and freezing, this was fear indeed, that much he understood. Then the agonizing wailings ceased, replaced by the droning sounds of generators and much brighter, whiter lights. The temperature had risen, warmer, and the hard concrete was traded with a smoother surface. He cracked his eyes open to a much spacious place, a different and illusory doldrums – he was in space. In the Watchtower, presumably, but this station wasn’t his. Not from his world, he guessed. Still dressed in slacks and bloodied shirt, Bruce heaved himself up to stand on both unsteady legs, with the help of the wall behind him as his support. Despite the newfound confidence and courage at the thought that he could find a way to escape, finally, a wave of nausea invaded him suddenly. But he kept his bearings together, taking deep breaths and paced forward. The tower’s mapping varied from his; there were lesser private quarters, larger conference room and cockpit area, more storages. And the Watchtower was empty, void of its members. Bruce continued his restricted walk, forcing the awkward angle of his left leg to move, and walked some more until he found himself in a vast lobby – with a beautiful, breathtaking view of the blue-green globe, starry and glittering space and—

…and Clark.

He was staring undecidedly at the superhuman’s back, his red cape flowed down to the floor, he didn’t seem like he had sensed his presence yet. Bruce felt so much relieved, he wanted to cry. After that torment, it would be nice to see a familiar face, at least. But this was not his universe, this was not his Clark. Which of the multiple worlds was he in? And whatever affections he was feeling and holding for this alternate, they didn’t _belong_ to him. These emotions were too foreign.

“I know you’re here, Bruce.”

He shrunk when the superhuman called his name. Falling silent, his legs were frozen. He paled when the alternate turned to face him, and the first thing Bruce saw was his tenacious mech-suit. The blend of amazonium, promethium, and ninth metal plated armor. This was the Superman during the Arkham explosion – who appeared in his dreams, fought Atom, and framed _his_ Clark. This was the alternate who lost his _Bruce_.

“Bruce,” the alternate called again, now with a smile. He reached out a hand, and said, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Angel. It won’t be long now.”

“…What do you want from me?”

“You and I, we belong to each other. My world revolves around you, and yours to me. It’s only logical that I have you by my side,” as he padded across the room, his armored suit began to tuck by itself and shed to his back, concealed beneath his cape like nanomachines, revealing his corrupted House of El’s emblem, skinsuit tainted in black. Bruce backed against the wall when the alternate grew nearer. “You know I can’t touch you, Bruce. You are only in the form of your consciousness.”

Bruce released a breath. “—why me? There are millions of Bruces out t-there.”

Another quirk on the superhuman’s lips, dark and menacing, he cornered Bruce – trapping him. “One world – different timeline, different personality. Different _history_. Yours, are similar to what used to be my Bruce’s. Ten years of fighting, alone and in despair, I’ve learned how to be pessimistic. I’m sure you understand how dreadful it feels. But once we’re together, I can make you _happy_. When I have you here with me, in person, we can finally be _normal_ , Bruce. Like what you’ve always wanted.”

“You don’t know what I want,” his voice quivered.

“Believe me, Angel. I know everything,” came his reply, damningly gentle. “Until every last star in the galaxy dies, I will never stop searching for _you_. Even if it means destroying a **world**.”

“BRUCE! **Snap** out of it!”

Pulled from his misery, he woke up shaken to Hal’s bleeding face; his eye mask was missing, sporting a huge cut on his forehead, one hand cradled brokenly to his chest, the other cupping Bruce’s jaw. The tower’s alarm was still blaring and weeping red, in spite of the fact that Bruce had returned to his own reality, he felt at ease now that he knew Hal was still breathing.

“Hey, Bruce—you okay, man?” Hal asked weakly, with a plop he sat down, legs stretched.

Propped on his elbows, “…You’re—“

“—barely alive, yeah, I know. Tadaa,” he grimaced and groaned, clutching at the wound on his stomach. He looked frightened, despite him being a symbol of will and courage. “T-There was this dark, mass thingy… Like a huge storm and it was growling. It, uhh, chased me around the solar system and sucked me in. It was creepy as fuck, the adrenaline rush was like—being hunted down in some kind of a horror movie! My power ring ran out, but I got here just before the primary generator closed down… Why the hell are you here anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be in Gotham?”

“…I was looking for you,” Bruce quietly said, frowning at his lack of injuries before grunting at how tired his legs were when he stood. Hal accepted Bruce’s help when he offered him a hand, raised himself up and wrapped his good arm around Bruce’s shoulder for support. Placing a hand on Hal’s waist, they crossed the deck. “You gave us quiet a scare.”

Hal snorted, then clenched his teeth when the wound at his stomach pulled his skin apart. “C’mon, man, I really need a doctor. Now’s not the time for— _wow_ , you’re actually serious? Only in the matter of life and death will I ever see this friendly side of you, huh? Clark’s gonna be so jealous.”

When the tower suffered another collision, the secondary power supply was cut off, and the bridge was shrouded in total darkness. There was that inhuman groaning again. As the pull in gravity decreased, the red alarm had stopped and the oxygen level began to drop rapidly, Bruce needed to get Hal away from here as soon as possible. That was his intention all along, when he decided to teleport here and save the Lantern. But out of nowhere, a dark swirling mass, a beastly conscious thing – thundering, clapping gray clouds – crept along the window, crawling and crushing the Watchtower. Could these have caused all those deformities?

“Ah, fuck,” Hal cussed.

With both of their comm links busted, and weighing the risks of dying – not that he cared much but at the same time he was worried about Clark – and rescuing Hal, Bruce spat, “Be quiet if you don’t want me to leave you here,” as they headed to one of the tower’s subdivisions at the right-wing, where the nearest emergency escape pods were located.

“…W-When I was inside that thing, I heard a voice,” Hal began. “It told me to wake up, to escape. And I did. I don’t know how and who, but the voice sounded like you.”

There were droplets of blood on the floor and along the hallway, Hal was barely keeping his eyes open, his skin losing its color and was bleeding and sweating profusely. The man was stubborn, Bruce admired that about him. Just a few steps more, then they would be safe. Until, all of a sudden, a portal broke off before them. Flashes of electricity and wind surges shunned them both and reeled them apart when Bruce was forced to release his grip on Hal. Bruce easily landed on his two feet, skidding across the room but Hal didn’t have much luck as him as he trundled, powerless and heavily wounded. Then came the aggressive doubles of Arthur, Billy and Hal in yellow. This would become the harrowing turning-point of his entire life. He would be taken away, he would never come back home. He believed all the nuances the alternate Superman had told him, when he shouldn’t. His heart skipped when _Aquaman_ – known to be a complete savage – fixed his attention towards him, raised his trident and fought him. Bruce parried all attacks as best he could, he knew he was no match against the King of Atlantis and the odds grew a lot worse if he was against all three meta-humans. But he could use the half-Atlantean’s brute strength and magic abilities to his advantage. Dodging sharp zaps of lightning from _Shazam_ , he glanced at Hal – his broken hand protecting his wounded stomach – struggling, jumping and evading to avoid from being beaten and cooked to death. He also noticed that the Yellow Lantern had remained motionless all the while, watching his every move. Bruce carefully timed the ticking seconds. If they were indeed here to take him away from his world, the only thing he could do was to ensure that no one was killed in this Watchtower. He skirted around Shazam’s thunders until they landed on Aquaman when he attempted to barrel towards him. Throwing plastic explosives at them, Bruce flicked off a smoke bomb before grabbing Hal to relish in the momentary safety inside the escape hangar.

The explosives erupted by the time he hauled and tossed Hal into one of the working pods, and securely locked its door. Hal drew in a sharp breath at his injuries when he fell face flat, but then he gritted his teeth. He was quick enough to slump against the pod’s door and slammed his hand. “Bruce…! What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m saving you,” he replied, punching in a few keys to guarantee Hal’s safe departure back to Earth. “They will kill you if you don’t leave. This is the only way to stop them from coming to this world again, I have to do this.”

“That’s bullshit, you hear me? You’ve lost your freaking mind! Open this door, Bruce!” Hal shouted at the top of his lungs, banging on the door, injuries forgotten. But when Bruce’s hand hovered above the eject button, his face crumpled in disappointment and remorse. “Bruce… No, you can’t do this! You can’t fucking do this shit to us! Don’t, please…! Superman— _Clark_! W-What about Clark? Are you just gonna leave him?!”

Bruce faltered at the mention of his lover’s name. He wouldn’t see him again. He would never get the chance to say ‘I love you’ out loud; to kiss him sweetly, to bask in his warm embrace and love, to spend an eternity. Clark would be angry with him, he would cry – but Bruce was sacrificing everything he had for the sake of the world. Bruce tied his lips together, farewell left unspoken as he punched the eject button. Hal screamed at him, fists hitting the door, as his pod shot off from the tower. His attention was then wheeled back to the problem at hand when a pair of shadowy, yellow claws struck out and captured him, crushing his ribs in the process before they lugged and hurled him back to the hallway, before the surging portal. Bracing on all fours, catching his breath, he choked at his injuries as his cowl was snatched off.

He gave up. For Clark, no matter how biased his views were against the world, he gave up.

The Yellow Lantern’s hand took a handful of his hair and pulled them backwards, whispered in a sing-song to his ear. “Goodnight.”

-

The entirety of the League’s Watchtower was cloaked in darkness, lightning glistened in its rumbling, grumbling clouds, roaring its inhuman sounds. Shooting up fast, Clark flew past an escape pod – Hal was in there, _alive_ and crying – but what about Bruce? No, he wasn’t in the pod. His darling was still inside the tower, cornered by three doppelgangers of his own meta-human League members. Clark couldn’t hear Bruce’s heartbeats anymore, something had interfered nearly all his senses, starving him from his anchor. And it was killing him. It angered him when he finally found Bruce, using his vision, drooping down to the floor, unconscious.

“No, no, no! Bruce!”

After battling Darkseid, Bruce held on to him, as tightly as he could. He went against all odds, an inferior human saving a god-like alien. To their eyes only, it was Bruce Wayne who saved Clark Kent. It was Bruce who gave Clark a second chance in life. They made a promise together that very night; to love one another with smiles and kisses, and teasing threats to kill if either one of them decided to leave the other behind. But now – a barrier separated him from his lover. The dark, swirling clouds prevented him from going any further. Like there was a force field circling the satellite.

Clark’s instincts were howling at him to take the risky chance to use his heat vision to apprehend all three hostiles, and flung Bruce into an escape pod before the space took him apart. He should have listened to his instincts when apparently, he was too late to call the shots when Bruce was carried into the portal, tailed by doppelgangers of Hal and Billy just before the tower was swallowed by the darkness, metal crushing and compacting against each other, and exploded.

~*~

Kal, donning his midnight skinsuit, sat before his late husband’s still grieving parents and his grown adopted sons at the Wayne Manor. He broke the news to them, _your son – Bruce – is alive_ , and quietly did he observe the changing expressions gracing their features – overwhelmed, a mixture of happiness and mourning. This was indeed a good news to lighten their bleak years. They needed it, and they should be thrilled.

“—found Bruce unconscious. He’s receiving full medical treatment back at the Watchtower, don’t worry. But I think he may be suffering from severe amnesia.”

“…O-Oh my god,” Martha wept, tucking her face at the crook of her husband’s neck when he drew her close.

Thomas breathed, “When do you think will we be able to see him, Clark?”

Kal gazed at them, one by one, and even Dick and Jason perked up at the question. Of course, they wanted to see him. They were his family first.

“When he wakes, I promise.”

~*~

Inside the clock tower’s old freight elevator, Jason took off his mask as he leaned against one corner, staring grimly at his notorious red guise. Red Hood; the nation dubbed him as the outlaw, the anti-hero, Batman’s former disciple, Batman’s unlikely ally. The adoption certificate, he liked to believe, had never expired since he was originally declared dead. In all honesty, he was just someone who wanted to have a family, parents and siblings. He called himself a son, who was just worried about his adoptive father. When the elevator finally lurched to a stop at the highest floor, Jason let himself in and walked to Barbara, who was watching the ongoing news at the multiple screens in front of her.

_“—Atom betrayed? Watchtower destroyed?”_

_“Is the Bat dead—“_

Few of the Watchtower’s debris had fallen to Earth, collected by the League as memorial for their lost comrades, friends. Atom’s death was honored, Batman’s was forgotten in the dark, but Bruce Wayne in the meantime, was declared missing. Media caught a sniff on the tragedy that had plundered the family, and reported the news to the listening world.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Jason mumbled, dropping his mask on the floor, by his feet.

Barbara spun in her wheelchair, softly calling his name. Her rosy cheeks glimmered wet with tears as she widened her arms, beckoning Jason to come closer – and when he did, he fit himself easily in her embrace. His knees buckled, he was so tired, as he cried on her shoulder. Gentle hand patted his back, tender hushes to his ear. Barbara was like a sister to him, and he much needed this comfort.

“We best get to Alfred, he needs us.”

-

Atom’s funeral was an unforeseen tragedy—

Victor, hours after his miraculous recovery, tried his best to reconfigure the tower’s system from the Batcave with Barbara Gordon’s help – to retrieve lost data, and perhaps, surveillance footages in the satellite during the time of chaos. About a few hours ago, Barry found Hal’s escape pod stranded in Mojave Desert, in which he quickly rushed his unconscious best buddy to the nearest hospital and had been there since. He reported to the entire League that Hal was deemed unfit by Dr. Thompkins, at the moment, to fight crimes and save the world. Waller, who dared to interrupt their moment of sadness by showing her face, she dropped her charges against Clark and their dead comrade. Diana, in return to all the patience and kindness Alfred had given her before, provided the old Butler a shoulder to lean on to. She understood how it felt to lose someone.

And Clark, drifted aimlessly – lost and alone – in space. His eyes were void, swimming in the sun’s warmth as beads of tears floated by. Bruce was taken, missing, he was never dead. He refused to believe otherwise. He sought all he could regarding Bruce’s disappearance since the tower exploded, and he would never give up searching. Bruce saved him so many times before, he held on his hand tightly. For Bruce, Clark refused to lose hope nor give up trying to search for a way to bring him back home. For Bruce…

Finding a strange, empty vial, he inspected the little blue drops and until, among the remains, was Bruce’s cowl – burnt on the edges.

He cried.

“Where are you, Bruce…?”

~*~

Was this a dream? If so, then when would he wake up?

Bruce was standing amidst an apocalyptic-destruction of Metropolis; where the heat was intense, burning like hell, buildings destroyed, water evaporated and the sky was darkened by thick smoke. This wasn’t his world. But when his courage and will clashed with something strange that bubbled deep within himself, Bruce found him afraid. And everything grew darker and darker. As he blinked his eyes, he was locked inside a locker – in a middle of a desolated place – with his front to the door, lights sleeping between the cracks. Bruce didn’t know where he was, truthfully, but he needed to get out from this facade.

And then, there was Alfred on the other side, walking past him on the scorching ground.

“A-Alfred…? Hey…”

Placing his hands on the door, he raised his voice. “Alfred…!” But the man didn’t seem to hear him. Then there were cloaked, blurry figures. “Let me out…! Please, let me out!”

_“You sound so scared.”_

There were voices now, and they were getting louder.

“Alfred…!”

Then Clark appeared, with a thump did he landed gracefully on the earth. He turned his head to Bruce, with a frown, he heard him. “C-Clark! Clark, I’m here! I’m right here!” Smashing his fists against the door, but Clark turned away. “No…! Clark! Don’t go! Don’t leave me! Clark!”

_“When the lights are out, Brucie… I’m gonna kill ya. Very, very… Lovingly.”_

Then the scorch turned cold, darkness replaced the light again. He slumped down to the floor, all he could hear were the incessant drumming of his heartbeats, and his own ragged, panicked breaths. Hot and cold, he was trembling. A vantablack shadow caught his eye, it limped and growled on the other side. Bruce covered his mouth – holding his breath, begging it to never open the door. Squeezing his eyes, knees against his chest, he whimpered when the door creaked oh so slowly.

Wakeupdon’topenthedoorwakeupdon’topenthedoorwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupWAKE UP!

He jolted awake, where was he? What had happened to him? He coughed and choked on his breathing, he thrashed around, and it felt like he was falling… Into the pits of darkness. Everything was so dark! His heart was throbbing, it was aching, stop! STOP! He then realized he was screaming, crying for help. Someone embraced him, gentle arms circled around him, voice hushing to his ear.

_Everything is all right, you’re only **dreaming a nightmare.**_

When he calmed and relaxed a little, for god knew how many minutes or hours he had wasted, Bruce looked up to his savior and saw Clark – who smiled at him, wiping away the tears. His hair was longer than the last time he saw him. But… When exactly was the last time? He didn’t remember.

“Bruce, you’re all right. Nothing can hurt you anymore, I’m here now. Don’t cry.”

“C-Clark? What’s happening to me…?” Oh, he sounded so meek and scared. He was, fear was taking control.

Clark hushed, his presence warmed him. “Shh, it’s just a cruel dream. _Angel_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a tear-jerker, you've been warned, 'cause I will kick every single one of you in the feels.


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